Hello everyone!

I'd like to say a quick thank you to everyone who reviewed, each one made my day. And to those who are still loitering, waiting for the Dwarves to appear before you make your minds up whether or not this is a story worth sticking with, I hope this lives up to your expectations. This chapter is a little different, as we have different viewpoints. Let me know what you think of them. I hope I did Bilbo justice. Also, the next few will be longer and packed full of Dwarves.

I own nothing but Rosalyn and my original storyline for her. The Hobbit and LOTR are works belonging to Tolkien and his estate. All creative output by Peter Jackson and his interpretation belong to him and the relevant parties.

As always, enjoy!

Chapter 5

Bilbo

After his strange encounter with Gandalf the Grey, someone Bilbo had not thought to see so much later into his years given the fact that the Wizard had been old when Bilbo was himself a child, Bilbo had decided to go about his business as usual…but perhaps with a small amount of added caution.

He didn't want talk of adventures to be following him around, as it gives one, especially a son of a Took, a bad reputation. So, he walked into the market with food on his mind. They would have fish for dinner, bream, he decided. Rose would like that.

Thinking on his companion, Bilbo smiled, recalling her frantic joy upon remembering her name. He'd spoken to Dinodas this morning, walking into the market, and his cousin had remarked how odd a coincidence it was that Daisy named her Flower. Speaking of his littlest cousin, Bilbo could have sworn he could hear her laughter from the other side of the lake. Sure enough, he looked, hand covering his eyes against the midmorning glare, and saw Daisy dragging Rosalyn along behind her. Hilda was way behind them, chatting with Asphodel Brandybuck. He realised that they must be on their way to pick flowers, or look for frogs, or something equally as entertaining to Daisy, as she was the one leading their little expedition. Satisfied that Rosalyn was in good hands, he turned back to his shopping, ruminating all the while.

His days spent in Rosalyn's company were vastly better than those he'd previously spent alone. Though the sweet peaceful solitude of bachelor lifestyle called to him, he had begun to see the perks of married life. He'd entertained the thought with Rosalyn in mind a day or two ago, but came to the conclusion that while their marriage would be the sweet, comforting sort of wedded bliss, he could never refuse Rosalyn the chance to find someone she loved. For, while he was certain his own feelings for her were in the realm of love, he was sure it wasn't romantic.

Though, he had to admit, his life had certainly brightened with her arrival.

He had just come from the fish stall when Mister Worrywart caught sight of him.

"Hello Mister Bilbo! Here, have a feel of me tubers," Mister Worrywart said in leu of a normal greeting. The farmer had known Bilbo since he was a wee tot and therefore ignored social convention when trying to sell to the young bachelor. "Nice and firm they are. Just come in from West Farthing. I'll have your order ready by tomorrow, no fear."

"Very impressive, Mister Worrywart," Bilbo praised easily, for the tubers were of a very high quality. But Bilbo had other matters on his mind. "Thank you. Now, I don't suppose you've seen a wizard lurking around these parts, have you?"

Farmer Worrywart crossed his arms, taking on a serious air as he thought aloud, and in doing so completely missing Bilbo's ducking behind him to hide from what he thought was the Wizard in question walking between the stalls.

"Tall fellow," the farmer began, trying to remember what a Wizard looked like. As the only Wizard the Hobbits of Hobbiton had ever seen was Gandalf the Grey, that was the very Wizard Mister Worrywart was trying to conjure an image of. "Long grey beard, tall pointy hat? No, can't say that I have."

Meanwhile, Bilbo had skulked to the bridge, hoping the Wizard hadn't seen him, but turned to see that the grey hat he thought he had seen was in fact a grey cushion piled atop a stack of crates. Shoulders sagging, Bilbo sighed partly in relief and partly out of frustration.

"Mister Bilbo?" Mister Worrywart called worriedly, still standing by his cart and regarding the Baggins heir with concern as he startled from his thoughts.

"Sorry, sorry, never mind," Bilbo placated, waving a soothing hand as he stood from his awkward crouch.

"How, er, how is Miss Rosalyn?" Mister Worrywart asked, still eyeing Bilbo.

Bilbo smiled, happy for the deviation of his peculiar behaviour, and unsurprised to hear that Daisy had made the rounds informing all of Hobbition about Rosalyn's recollection. "Fine, she's fine. Thank you for asking."

"Good, good," the farmer ruminated, and nodded absently. "Is she waiting for you at Bag End?"

"No, no, she's out with Hilda, Asphodel and Daisy until lunch."

"Hmm," Mister Worrywart hummed, his bushy eyebrows coming to form a line across his brow as he watched Bilbo. "And er, has she seen this Wizard as well?"

Bilbo barely felt polite enough to dignify that with an answer.

The rest of the time Bilbo was in the market, he felt this unwavering sensation of urgency. As if the shadow of the Wizard was lingering directly behind him and ushering him along.

He hurried home, remembering that Rose did not yet have a key, having refused to get one cut for herself.

"I'm merely a guest," she'd insisted, much to his annoyance. He had tried, multiple times, to reassure her that she was not only welcome in Bag End, but he considered her a permanent addition. She didn't have an ounce of confidence in her self worth. It often plagued Bilbo that, because of her memory loss, she might never regain who she was beforehand. Both in memory, and in spirit. He had, of course, had a key cut anyway and had hidden it in the eaves above his front door, but she did not know and so would be locked out if she were to return before him.

Once home, he shut the door behind himself, then, after a moments deliberation, turned back and locked it. He was not having a Wizard walk into his house unannounced, he decided, he'd just have to listen out for Rose's return.

Rosalyn

The market had been just as busy as the days previously, but now, armed with my name, I'd felt shielded from the masses. It was an awkward comfort, to know my name but to still not understand who I was. Bilbo had insisted only an hour or so before at breakfast that I was welcome to stay as long as I liked in Bag End. When I'd attempted to tentatively approach the idea of my leaving in search of answers, he'd pursed his lips and developed a unsureness in his eyes. Clearly, the idea of me leaving Bag End, armed only with these visions and my name, unnerved him.

That said, I was beginning to grow uneasy myself. The visions, now that I knew what they were, terrified me. Why was I seeing these things? For what purpose? Did I have them before my memory loss? The implications of them were unimaginable, far more than my damaged mind could comprehend. I knew, logically, that the day might never come when I understand what I am going through, or why. The thought drew a cold feeling in my breast, as if a weight of ice sat over me.

"What'cha looking at, Rosie?" Daisy asked, nose up as she scrutinised the wares.

She had popped up at my elbow while I was admiring some broaches at Asphodel's stall. After I'd told her my real name, she hadn't been upset that her moniker for me was now obsolete, rather she immediately began to think of a nickname to use. Hilda had confided in me last night that her daughter took pride in using nicknames to those closest to her. Apart from Bilbo, because she'd attempted to call him 'Billy", but Bilbo had adamantly refused to answer her if she did so.

"This broach," I told her and held it up for her to see.

Asphodel's mother, Alyssum, turned to tend to another customer while we looked over her pretty trinkets.

"Mama wanted to know if you were all right," Daisy whispered.

I'd gone to see them early this morning, eager to have the stitches out at last. Hilda had said that it wouldn't take long and I was determined to have them removed as soon as possible. While painful, I was relieved to be free of them. My scalp still ached, and she'd advised that I pin up my hair in such a way that it didn't pull on the still healing wound. It had lead to an impromptu lesson on hair braiding. It had been an enlightening experience to say the least.

"I'm fine," I reassured her.

But Daisy's face clouded. She frowned up at me.

"What is it?"

"When grown ups say they're fine, they don't really mean it. They think children don't understand. But I do. You're lying."

Shamefaced, I floundered. What could I say to that?

"No, I'm not fine," I admitted. "But I will be, in time."

Her earnest eyes watched me, looking for another lie, I suppose. Then, she nodded, and grabbed my hand.

"Good, come on," she ushered me, tugging me away from the stall.

I managed to pluck my basket up before she'd pulled me too far, bidding Alyssum goodbye.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"On an adventure!"

"Where to?"

She shrugged her small shoulders. "Anywhere."

I was coming back from the bakery, having promised Bilbo I'd fetch us a slice of carrot cake for after supper, when I happened upon a tall, grey clothed Man walking from the top of the hill.

"Hello," I greeted him, a little startled by the Man's appearance in Hobbiton. He was the first I'd met and now I understood everything Bilbo had told me about the race of Men.

While I knew, from reading and Bilbo's explanations, that Hobbits and Dwarves are shorter than the majority of the inhabitants of Middle Earth, there was a vast difference in hearing the fact, and seeing the truth. The Man towered over me, his staff the height of me three times over. He seemed to sense my hesitation and smiled at me. Soft lines appeared above his long grey beard and under the brim of his large, pointed grey hat that gave him a kindly appearance.

"Hello, my dear," he greeted back.

What do you say to a Man? One who was so obviously not a local. Was he lost?

"Can I help you at all, sir?"

He looked warmed by my offer of aid, still smiling gently.

"No, I was just visiting an old friend," he assured me. "However I must say that I am very surprised to see a young Dwarrowdam in Hobbiton." There was a question in his tone, of quiet curiosity.

I felt my cheeks flush at my own forgetfulness. He would have noticed right away that I wasn't a Hobbit. Bilbo had seen that almost immediately, of course this Man would. I had gotten used to those in Hobbiton treating me no differently than they would each other, with no inclination as to my other race. Bilbo had been right, the Hobbits were all too happy that there was another to bring into their families to worry about my mixed blood. There were still some glances down to my feet, but no one said anything to me. If anything, the Hobbits were growing more daring. Even now, on my quick journey to the bakery, I had been offered the hand of three eligible Hobbits. Only one was a repeat proposal.

"I can see how that might be confusing sir," I admitted, starting to hate that my heritage would always raise questions.

"Not confusing my dear, merely intriguing," the Man assured me as he smiled. "I apologise, my name is Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey."

I smiled back at the Man, he seemed kindly and gentle, despite his enormous stature. If other Men were like him, perhaps the world outside of Hobbiton wasn't as scary as I was imagining? Though, I could see one inconvenience, speaking to Gandalf I found I had to tilt my head up quite far to meet his eyes. Continuing might cause considerable neck pain.

"My name is Rosalyn, it is a pleasure to meet you mister Gandalf," I said, embracing the opportunity to have a conversation with someone new. The only people I'd spoken to since waking in the field where Hobbits. I even remembered to curtsey as Bilbo had taught me. He'd tried to instil in me some manners, as he felt I was lacking a certain politeness. Secretly, I thought it was a load of hogwash, but Daisy and I had had fun mocking the exaggerated curtsey for some time afterwards.

"The pleasure is all mine Miss Rosalyn." Gandalf tipped his head politely as he spoke.

"Do you need directions, sir?"

He shook his head, already looking out over towards The Green Dragon. "No, no, I think I will be fine Miss Rosalyn, but thank you for your concern."

"Then I'll bid you goodbye, I'm afraid I'm rather late for lunch."

He chuckled. "Goodbye Miss Rosalyn, I am sure I'll be seeing you again."

Watching the Wizard leave, I felt the slightest unease that he would be back, and a sense of thrill at the same time.

As I walked towards the door, something caught my eye. It was the tiniest flicker of light, like the reflection from a moving lantern on a mirror, but it came from the wooden door. I stopped for a moment, watching the wood carefully, but no other light appeared.

Curious.

Also curious, the door was locked.

"Bilbo?" I called, knocking on the door.

He immediately opened it, looking very flustered. Ushered me in with fluttering hands, poking his head back out into the daylight to look around suspiciously before quickly shoving the door shut and locking it again.

"Bilbo, why was the door locked?" I asked, taking off the cloak and placing my basket on the floor out of the way of his pacing feet. "What's happened?"

"Rose!" He clamoured, as if he had only just recognised it was me who had come through the door. I now noticed that his face was red and the curls on top of his head were fluffed in agitation. He must have been running his hands through it. "You will not believe that has happened!"

He sounded angry and I wondered if he had had another altercation with Aldagrim Took. The two had taken to avoiding one another, but when Bilbo had gone to tell Hildagrim about Aldagrim's drinking, an argument had ensued. Aldagrim had been stripped of his title of Bounder, and he had taken to festering in his anger ever since.

"Oh?"

"I had a visitor, Gandalf the Grey," Bilbo started to explain. "I haven't seen him since I was young."

"Gandalf? I ran into him at the bottom of the hill just now, lovely Man."

"Lovely?" Bilbo scoffed but then froze, eyes wide. "At the bottom of the hill? Just now?"

I nodded, hanging up the cloak as I watched him. He looked as if he were on the verge of bursting into tears or fuming anger. "That's what I said. Bilbo, are you feeling all right?"

"Hmm? Yes, yes, yes, fine, fine."

I raised an eyebrow at his dithering answer and wringing hands. At this moment, Bilbo was anything but 'fine'.

"Perhaps we ought to sit down?" I prompted, retrieving my basket and leading the way into the kitchen.

Bilbo followed me, but I could hear him muttering behind my back.

After a long winded explanation of who Gandalf was and how Bilbo came to know him, it had taken many cups of tea to calm Bilbo's nerves. We contented ourselves that the Wizard's arrival had been a chance thing, and we settled back into our established routine. We had just sat down to our rather modest dinner of whole roasted bream, with boiled potatoes and carrots with a sprig of parsley fresh from Bilbo's garden when the door bell rang.

Bilbo looked up from where he had been happily dousing his fish in lemon juice with a petulant frown on his face.

"I wonder who that could be at this hour?" I asked, leaning towards the circular window, but I couldn't see anything.

He shrugged, looking very put out by the distraction from his supper. I laughed, promising to keep it warm by the fire while he answered the door.

He huffed and mumbled under his breath, "Anyone would think it was her home, not mine."

"Anyone would, if they saw how messy you really were!" I retorted, laughing.

He just grumbled again, though now looking more amused than annoyed as he stood and left the kitchen. I did as promised and moved his plate to the warming ledge by the fire. The heat let the scent of lemon fill the room.

I could faintly hear the murmur of voices, both deep and male. Perhaps it was Hamfast? Had he forgotten his gloves or shears in the garden again? No, if it was, Bilbo would have invited him in for a bite to eat, or at the very least some tea by now. Though Hamfast was married, it was a new marriage, and he often forgot he had his own supper to go home to, so he often took Bilbo up on the offer of joining him for meals. Much to Bilbo's pleasure for company and much to Bell's disgruntlement and annoyance at a wasted meal. I had half a mind to offer her my own company the next time Hamfast agreed to dine with Bilbo.

When I heard Bilbo's approaching footsteps I took the plate from beside the hearth and placed it back on the table. Bilbo came back into the kitchen with a large figure following him.

One who was assuredly not Hamfast Gamgee.

"I've actually just served supper," Bilbo said, a note of nervousness in his voice.

They both entered, the taller figure suddenly stopping when he spotted me, wild eyebrows raising on the smooth skin of his forehead.

"You dinna' tell me you had company." His voice gruff, his tone shocked, and his accent one I didn't know.

"Oh, yes, yes," Bilbo suddenly startled out of his own shock, looking a little annoyed at his lack of manners, though if it were his own or the strangers which irritated him more I could not say. "This is Rosalyn."

The person I now recognised as neither being a Hobbit nor a Man, bowed to me.

"Dwalin, at ya service Miss Rosalyn," he greeted, while his eyes cast down my frame quickly, as if cementing in his mind that he was really seeing me and not imaging my presence. "Forgive me fa askin', but why is a Dwarrowdam living with a Hobbit? Where is ya family? Ya chaperone?"

"Ah," I began, sharing a nervous glance with Bilbo who stood awkwardly, as if waiting for Dwalin to turn his questioning to him. "Um, well it's a long story."

Dwalin chuckled, surprisingly, an easy smile blossoming on his pale thin lips. "I've got time lass, how bout we talk over supper?"

"Oh!" I shared a startled look with Bilbo, had he invited this stranger to eat with us? "All-all right, then."

"Bream!" Dwalin exclaimed when he saw the plates on the table. "Ya have good taste Master Baggins."

Bilbo couldn't help but flush at the compliment, however, it was very quickly banished from his cheeks when Dwalin sat himself in Bilbo's chair and began to dig heartily into what had previously been Bilbo's supper. It appeared he had not invited Dawlin to supper.

After a pause of pure surprise, I took this moment to turn to Bilbo, taking hold of the teapot to pour us all a cup of tea.

"Bilbo, is that a Dwarf?" I questioned under my breath, carefully pouring into a fresh mug for Dwalin, who was ignoring us and seemed to only have eyes for Bilbo's food.

"Yes, yes it is," he nodded, muttering distractedly, his fingers twitching. "I will have to convince him that he's in the wrong house, yes, yes, that's it. A misunderstanding, of course."

He was planning to get rid of Dwalin?

"But Bilbo, he's a Dwarf!"

Bilbo blinked and then it seemed my words finally made their way through his head, for his face cleared as his mouth gaped. It looked as though he were struggling to explain the sudden appearance of a Dwarf in his house after another had cropped up only a week previous, and coming up entirely blank. Bilbo was attracting all sorts of peculiarities, first a Dwarrowdam without a memory, then a Wizard seeking help on a quest, and now a Dwarf with what looked to be a bottomless stomach.

Sighing, I gave the mug of tea to Dwalin who thanked me and took a long drink before adding a spoonful of honey and topping up the mug with tea once more.

"So lass, what's this story o' yours?" He asked, placing the mug back upon the table after another sip, and taking a smaller bite of carrot and potato, waiting for me to explain with focused blue eyes.

"Well," I began, swallowing as I felt a rise of nerves. Despite him being a stranger, he was a Dwarf. He was my kin. Surely he could help me? "I've been here for a week, I woke up in a field not far from the village."

Dwalin frowned, stopping mid-chew. "Woke up?"

I nodded, forcing myself to take a sip of tea to hide my nervously twitching cheek. "Yes, I was alone, with no one around me and…and with no memory, at all. I didn't even know my name."

Dwalin was so shocked that he stopped eating all together, something I knew must have taken him a great deal to achieve, given his earlier gusto.

"You're pulling me leg, aren't ya?"

"No."

He was silent for a moment more, now chewing slowly as he thought. He swallowed before speaking again, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "No memory, at all? And you were all alone?"

I nodded.

He shook his head, wrinkling his nose in distaste. His giant fists clenched on the tabletop and I got the sense of danger. Hair stood up at the back of my neck, but I fought to keep eye contact with him. I didn't get the feeling he was a bad person, just…capable of violence.

"Whoever left you is a villain who should be caught and strung up by their toes for such a crime," he growled.

"Crime?" Bilbo echoed nervously, shifting on the balls of his feet, as he was still stood beside the table, looking entirely too nervous to contemplate sitting down again.

Dwalin nodded, his eyes dark under his bushy brows.

"Aye, to leave a Dwarrowdam, as young as you are lass is punishable by arrest and time in jail. Our dams are far too precious to be left without someone to care for 'em. Not that they aren't able to handle themselves, a'course," he was quick to reassure me, seeing the indignant frown I was giving him. "But there are those in this world who would gladly take advantage of a young Dwarrowdam such as yourself."

I swallowed nervously. "You mean…?"

"I mean they would take you and you would never see the light of day again, lass." Dwalin was nothing but serious as he spoke, his eyes unflinching from my own as he impressed upon me the importance of his words, and the meanings behind them.

My hands started to shake, suddenly my loss of memory meant more than the gaping hole where my life once was, it was now the void of all the possible events that could have befallen me.

"How—how often does this happen?"

Dwalin watched me for a moment, as if deciding if he should tell me the truth or not.

"I've only known it ta happen twice lass," he finally admitted softly. "Both times the Dwarrowdams were taken durin' a raid on a travellin' party."

"And what happened to them?" I asked, leaning forward earnestly, desperately, needing to know the answer as surely as I needed my next breath. "Did you find them again?"

Bilbo was instantly at my side, placing a steady hand over my own that were trembling on the table.

"Rose, my dear, maybe it would be best not to know the answer to questions like that," he suggested, shooting Dwalin a look that told him to keep quiet until I made my mind up. "It won't help any, will it? And really, you should focus on now. You are safe, nothing will harm you here and now."

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and tried to force the shaking of my hands to stop, but they still shook beneath Bilbo's.

"You're right Bilbo," I whispered, unable to raise my voice anymore as panic and desperate hope swelled in my chest. "But, what if I am one of those Dwarrowdams?"

Dwalin looked uncomfortable by the suggestion, shifting in his seat while chewing on a bite of fish, his thick moustache twitching from side to side.

He grunted. "That's not possible lass."

"Why not?"

"Because we found 'em both," he answered, avoiding my gaze.

"You did?" I grasped hold of the hope I could be reunited with my family once again with both hands. "So, so my family could find me?"

Dwalin swallowed, as his eyes met mine reluctantly. "No lass. It wasn't like that…we, we found 'em both dead."

Air escaped my lungs in a wheeze and I was suddenly dizzy and light headed.

"Oh," I gasped.

"But," Dwalin coughed, his voice a gruff growl. "As Master Baggins said, you're safe now, and that's all that matters."

"Yes, I…I suppose you're right," I admitted, nervously tucking a stray curl behind my ear.

Dwalin subsequently dropped his fish, staring at my ear with eyes wider than the dinner plate he was currently bent over.

"By my beard," he whispered. "Lass? Am I seein' things or did ya put something in the tea?"

"Oh!" I quickly realised what had captured his attention so avidly and felt a rush of unplaceable embarrassment that shocked me. What did I have to be embarrassed about?

"Oh, no, no there's nothing in the tea," I quickly reassured him, watching his reaction carefully. I was not unaware that HalfBlooded children were rare. Bilbo had told me as such, as well as Hilda and the fact that I hadn't yet met another like me proved this. "Umm, my ears, yes well, Bilbo thinks that perhaps I am a half Dwarf, half Hobbit. He…he says I have Hobbit ears, and well, that no Dwarf has hair as curly as I do."

"Master Baggins would be right," Dwalin agreed in a hushed voice, and swallowed with a grimace. "Dwarf hair is corse by nature, too heavy for curls. Perhaps lass, it may be best if you covered your ear back up. This night may go more smoothly if so. The hair can be overlooked, the ears cannot."

"All right," I agreed, wondering what he could mean while rearranging my hair.

But before I could ask, Dwalin lent back in his chair and turned his head towards Bilbo, who had moved to perch on a chair by the fire, hands clasped nervously between his thighs.

"Very good this, Master Baggins, any more?" Dwalin asked, raising his voice slightly.

It seemed that particular topic of conversation was over, at least for now.

"More? Oh yes, yes," Bilbo said, nodding with a vacant expression. It struck me then that he hadn't heard Dwalin's comment about my ears, he'd been away with his thoughts.

"Help yourself." Bilbo hovered awkwardly at Dwalin's shoulder as he offered him a plate of scones. "You know, not that we aren't happy to have you, but it's just that, umm, we weren't expecting company."

The door bell suddenly rang.

"That'll be the door," Dawlin growled in amusement, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he plucked a scone from the plate.

Bilbo gaped for a moment before good manners forced him to answer the door, abandoning the plate of scones in the process. I turned to Dwalin with a cocked eyebrow.

"Are you expecting company?" I asked, beginning to feel like there was something afoot.

He grinned at me and stood from the table, pocketing a couple of scones and munching on another. "Come on lass, let's see who it is."

I followed the large Dwarf, half feeling like I was about to scold him, and half like an excitable child. He quickly devoured the rest of the scones as we walked.

"Do you know who's at the door?" I pushed.

"Well, roughly." He chuckled gruffly as we exited the kitchen. "Could be any of a number."

A number? Just who was he expecting to follow? And why didn't Bilbo know about them?

"Maybe we should go and see who it is?" I suggested, feeling suspicious at Dwalin's words and worried over Bilbo's reaction to more unexpected guests, especially if it were more Dwarves given his reaction to Dwalin. Perhaps it would be best if I was present to mediate?

Dwalin nodded, chuckling good naturedly. "Sounds fair lass, in any case, we've run outta food!"

Bilbo

Meanwhile, Bilbo answered the door again, half expecting it to be one of his neighbours asking what a Dwarf was doing at his door so late at night. But his hopes were quickly dashed when he saw another Dwarf stood in the doorway. However, this one was shorter, rounder, with white hair and a long white beard.

"Balin," the Dwarf greeted with a kind smile. "At your service."

Bilbo blinked. "Good evening."

"Yes, yes it is. Though, I think it might rain later. Am I late?" The Dwarf, Balin, asked calmly.

Bilbo could only frown. "Late for what?"

"Bilbo?" He heard Rose call from the sitting room.

The white haired Dwarf looked towards the sound of the voice and instantly smiled, stepping past him and into the warm home without invitation.

"Oh! Haha!" He laughed. "Evening, brother!"

Dwalin stopped his pillaging of the biscuit jar from the mantle to stare at this new Dwarf and grinned in welcome.

While the Dwarves were otherwise occupied, Bilbo took the opportunity to look outside, searching left and right for any more unexpected visitors to pop out of nowhere. Nope, not even the shine of anonymous eyes appeared in the undergrowth. Where on Middle Earth were they coming from? Thin air?

"Oh, ho, by my beard," Dwalin chuckled. "You're shorter and wider than last we met."

The white haired Dwarf, Balin, laughed. "Shorter, not wider, still sharp enough for both of us."

They embraced fondly, and then, with an almighty crack, smacked their heads together. But neither seemed effected, rather, continuing to gaze at the other fondly, chuckling the entire time. Bilbo felt more than a little startled.

"Err, excuse me," he said, politely trying to be heard over their reunion. "I hate to interrupt, but I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house."

Rosalyn had meanwhile edged around the Dwarves, watching their violent greeting with both awe and trepidation. She leant into Bilbo and whispered into his ear, "Do all Dwarves do that?"

He didn't answer her, merely whimpered and looked forlornly at the mud the Dwarves had brought in with them on his polished floor and previously clean carpet.

This was going to be a very long night indeed.

Rosaline

"Have ya eaten?" Dwalin asked his elder counterpart as he rummaged through Bilbo's recently restocked pantry.

They were both currently inspecting a jar of the apple jam I'd helped Bilbo make only days before. The neat little label filled me with an unexpected surge of pride, as did the approving noise Dwalin made when he sampled some. He placed the jar next to the growing pile of what I assumed were 'approved' food stuffs. One red onion which had apparently gone past its best, a loaf of dark dense bread neither Dwarf liked the smell of, and a small pot of too sweet honey had been quickly returned to their places as 'unapproved' items.

Bilbo began talking over the Dwarves, but never raising his voice very loud at all, maintaining the perfect air of polite anger.

"It's not that I don't like visitors," he informed them, pacing in front of the doorway to the pantry. Not that either Dwalin nor Balin seemed to notice him there, or that he was talking at all, least of all to them. "I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit, but I do like to know them before they come visiting. The thing is—"

The Dwarves began to talk over Bilbo, paying him no mind at all.

"What's this?" Dwalin asked, holding aloft a piece of the smelly cheese Bilbo liked to have on oat cakes.

"I don't know, I think it's cheese," Balin correctly identified before sniffing the wedge experimentally and eyeing it closely. "Gone blue."

Dwalin shook his head. "It's riddled with mould."

Balin made the swift decision to chuck the offending bit of cheese onto the floor beside Bilbo as he came to a stop. They then started to talk about the cask of ale waiting to be sampled.

"The thing is," Bilbo continued, looking down at the foodstuff with a twitching eyebrow, obviously trying to contain an unfriendly protest. I could barely suppress my laughter at the lengths Bilbo would go to just to remain polite! Surely there was a limit to his kindness? "I don't know either of you. Not in the slightest. I hate to be blunt but I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry."

"You think—" The two Dwarves stopped and turned to face Bilbo, who cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly.

Balin nodded. "Apology accepted." Then turned to his brother and gave him an empty flagon. "Now, fill it up, brother, don't stint."

The doorbell rang again.

Bilbo sighed. "Would you please watch them while I answer that?"

I cast a look back to Dwalin and Balin.

"You wanna get stuck in?" Dwalin asked, holding a plate of cured ham in offering.

"I suppose I could eat again if you insist, brother."

I chuckled and turned back to Bilbo. "Not on your life, the excitement is where you're going."

"You're spending too much time with Daisy." He gave me a dry look that made me grin, but I wasn't concerned about his short temper at the moment. I was too excited at the possibility of who could be at the door. He gave a long suffering sigh and with one last glance back at the Dwarves, went to answer the door. I followed in his wake, feeling light and excited. There were Dwarves here! Actual Dwarves! Maybe, once the business they'd come here for was done, I could ask them…well…anything?

We came to the door and Bilbo hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to fortify himself. He opened the door with a quick tug.

Then, he gave a whimper when he saw who stood on the other side of the threshold. Two more Dwarves, one blonde, the other dark haired and both were young, much younger than the two Dwarves we had already met.

"Fíli," announced the blonde.

"And Kíli," greeted the brunette.

Then, they spoke together while bowing. "At your service."

It sounded as though they had practised that many times, and from the self-satisfied smiles on their faces when they straightened, I had an inkling my suspicions were correct.

When they were both stood again, the dark haired one, Kíli, blinked at me for a moment before sending me a surprised grin.

"Good evening," he repeated to me, bowing at the waist again.

Limbs stuck for a moment, I stumbled into a curtsey and smiled back at him. "Good evening."

The fair haired one, Fíli, stood in shock at the sight of me, his eyes and mouth agape as he watched me dip and greet his companion. They clearly hadn't expected my presence, and Fíli looked ready to faint. I had to admit it was sweet seeing such a worldly Dwarf looking so vulnerable. He seemed to have finally shaken off the shock and bowed to me, bowing far deeper than he had to Bilbo.

"Good evening, miss," he finally said, his voice soft.

"Good evening," I replied, remembering to curtsey to him.

When we stood upright, his eyes never left mine. They were almost the same shade as the cloak Bilbo had given me.

"You must be Mister Boggins," Kíli proclaimed loudly and with a wide grin.

"No, you can't come in, you've come to the wrong house!" Bilbo burst and tried to close the door on them, stepping forward and shoving his shoulder into the wood.

But the Dwarves caught the door easily, even as Bilbo continued to push it shut, his feet sliding on the tiles.

"What?" Kíli lamented, oblivious to Bilbo's attempts to close the door on his hand. "Has it been canceled?"

Fíli, attentions finally diverted to the matter at hand, was frowning as he peered round the half closed door at us. "No one told us."

Bilbo, realising he couldn't shift the wood anymore, had come to a loss, blinking and stuttering as he tried to make sense of the happenings of the evening. "Ca—canceled? No, nothing's been canceled."

"That's a relief," Kíli sighed and easily pushed the door open despite Bilbo putting his entire weight behind it.

They strode in, Kíli excitably, Fíli, calmly. Bilbo, resigned, closed the door but not before checking outside once again. The two new Dwarves made themselves comfortable, loosening their coats and taking off their weapons. I hadn't realised how armed they were. Kíli, upon divesting himself of his bow and quiver, and after placing them over Bilbo's right shoulder as he distractedly looked around the smial, began to wander along the annex trailing mud after himself. I could take my eyes off the intricate runes carved onto the quiver.

"Careful with these, I've just sharpened 'em," Fíli warned, unloading his many weapons, beginning with two large swords, into Bilbo's cradled arms.

I stood by and watched them, trying to contain my amusement and excitement from showing on my face. Four Dwarves! Then, I realised that Fíli had only begun to unload his weapons, there were two small throwing axes strapped to each ankle, and two long, thin daggers sheathed into the bracers on his forearms.

"It's nice, this place, d'you do it yourself?" Kíli asked, before starting to wipe his muddy boots onto one of Bilbo's treasured items.

"What? No, it's been in the family for years…" Bilbo answered faintly, polite but still confused, until he caught sight of what Kíli was doing. "That's my mother's glory box! Can you please not do that?"

"Fíli, Kíli, come on, give us a hand," Dwalin said, thankfully ushering Kíli under his arm and into the dining room before Bilbo said something less polite.

"Mister Dwalin," Kíli answered with a chuckle and a look at the larger Dwarf that I can only describe as admiration.

Fíli followed him, passing me with a soft look that almost seemed understanding. Maybe he too realised how amusing this situation was, Dwarves appearing at the door of a Hobbit with no aforementioned welcome. Or was he sharing a look of commiseration over the behaviour of his unruly companion?

"Let's shove this in the hallway. Otherwise we'll never get everyone in," Balin directed, having taken hold of the large crockery cabinet.

"Everyone? How many more are there?" Bilbo asked, arms full of daggers and swords, a full quiver and bow hung over his right shoulder.

"Bilbo, they knew your name!" I exclaimed excitedly once the Dwarves were occupied.

"What?" He asked, distracted as he pouted.

"They knew your name," I explained, positively thrilled at this turn of events. "The young ones, they knew your name, or at least the mispronunciation of it. Someone must have told them to come here."

He chuffed at me, no more pleased by my observation than he was of the Dwarves currently moving all his furniture.

"Do you know who?" I pressed.

Bilbo shook his head, eyes watching the Dwarves shrewdly.

"No, but I can guess."

"Who?"

Bilbo sighed, nose twitching irritably. "I sincerely hope I'm wrong."

"Where do you want this?" I heard Dwalin ask just before there was the sound of heavy furniture being dragged over the floor above the sound of the doorbell ringing again.

"Oh, no," Bilbo lamented despairingly, casting only a quick glance backward to the sound of the Dwarves rearranging his home before dumping the weapons onto the floor and trotting towards the door. I followed at his heels. "No, no! There's nobody home!" He shouted. "Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If—if this is some clot-head's idea of a joke, I can only say, it is in very poor taste."

He roughly opened the door, obviously expecting another lone Dwarf to be stood who would be on the receiving end of a tongue lashing, only for a spilling of Dwarves to pour over the threshold and land in an undignified pile.

"Get off, you big lump!" One of the Dwarves said from beneath a large dwarf who had landed, rather unfortunately, on top of them all.

"Gandalf," Bilbo sighed.

Indeed, the Wizard was stood outside behind the mound of Dwarves, smiling gently, the glint of mischief clear in his eye.

I lent to the side to whisper: "Where you right?"

"Yes…unfortunately."

One Dwarf, whose hat looked precariously close to falling off his head, suddenly held up the bell that had been previously hung beside the front door.

"Might want to be gettin' this fixed," he announced, sounding rather winded as he lay at the bottom of the pile.

Bilbo shut his eyes and let out a long suffering sigh.

What followed next was the hyper rush of Dwarves in motion.

All at once, they worked together to get the dining room ready for supper, bringing and taking several different objects to and from the dining room. Once, I had tried to help and attempted to lift a sturdy chair into the dining room from Bilbo's study, knowing Bilbo would much prefer that chair to hold the weight of a Dwarf than his antique chairs. However, I had been stopped by Dwalin, who took the chair from me, telling me not to worry and to let the others get me a drink and something to eat. I had refused as kindly as possible but Dori, the kind hearted, intricately braided, grey haired Dwarf had overheard and ushered me into the dining room and onto one of the chairs already there and handed me a cup of chamomile tea.

So, I now sat and observed them all over the rim of my mug, watching Bilbo trying in vain to restore some sense of order to his normally quiet home. In between moving around and reorganising the rooms, each Dwarf had come up to me, some individually, some in family pairings or triples, and introduced themselves. It seemed to be a trend to have rhyming names in Dwarven families.

As I watched them I noticed that Fíli and Kíli had to bend their heads to step underneath the curving roof of the doorways, like Dwalin. They were quite tall compared to the company I had been keeping recently. I watched as they walked ahead of me and into Bilbo's dining room. I couldn't help but notice how pleasing they looked at my eye, Fíli more so. Kíli was attractive, I could see that plainly, but to my eyes he seemed a little young for me to see him in such a light. His eyes and the exuberance of his character captured a childishness in him that couldn't be mistaken. Fíli, however, was handsome.

Occasionally, our eyes would meet. A handful of snatched glances, by design or happenstance, I wasn't sure. What I did know, was that with every time his azure eyes found mine, I liked it more and more.