Hello! A big thank you to everyone who read, liked, followed, reviewed or favourited the story! I see you all and I appreciate every last one of you!

Just a couple of notes before we begin:

Fíli's perspective takes place when he and Kíli first introduce themselves. I wanted a nice overlap so we could see how our boy reacted to Rose. Hope it lives up to expectations!

Also, it was pointed out to me that I hadn't explained Hamfast's appearance. So sorry for any confusion. Yes, this is Hamfast, Sam's father. He isn't canonically in the events of The Hobbit as he was a child. However, for the story's sake I've aged him and Bell up. He's in his twenties, as is Bell, which would make him in his eighties during Bilbo's 111th party. Hobbit's are considered adults when they hit their thirties (33?) but I liked the idea that Hamfast took up gardening as a past time until he was old enough to become a roper like his father, but then loved gardening too much to stop.

Please do excuse my attempt at Khuzdul. I couldn't find an accurate translation (or spelling) for what Bifur says in the extended scenes. So I've tried my best. The Khuzdul is in italics to indicate that it's not the right spelling, merely the pronunciation (or a bastardised version of it).

Also, because there is no conclusive evidence for the exact ages of all the Dwarves, I have been using an approximation of their real ages and this handy equation I found on Tumblr: Dwarven age/3.28=equivalent human age. For example, canonically Thorin is 195 when he dies and is born in TA 2746, and Balin is said to be born in TA 2763 which would make him younger than Thorin. However, I liked what Peter Jackson and his team did in the movies by putting Balin as an advisor for Thorin and an elder. So, I've done the same. I've fiddled a little with their ages to give my best approximation to how I feel the company would range in age. Yes, I do realise this would mean Balin is 265 when he dies in Moria, rather than 231. But Dwarves are purported to live between 250 to 350 years, so we can have a few years wiggle room.

So the Dwarves ages are as follows: (Dwarf/Human)

Fíli 82 / 25

Kíli 77 / 23

Ori 92 / 28

Thorin 195 / 59

Dwalin 182 / 55

Balin 212 / 64

Dori 174 / 53

Nori 136 / 41

Bifur 197 / 60

Bofur 140 / 42

Bombour 130 / 39

Oin 229 / 69

Gloin 180 / 54

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, Philippa Boyens and Fran Walsh, and their interpretation belong to them and all the relevant parties.

Sorry for the long winded introduction! As always, hope you enjoy.

Notes edited 13/6/21 for clarification on Dwarves ages.

Chapter 6

Fíli

Fíli was dumbstruck.

Utterly baffled and shocked, completely and wholly. But he hadn't a clue why. All he knew was that it had something to do with the golden haired lass who was watching him with a patient, soft smile. He inhaled, realising he hadn't drawn a breath since he had laid eyes on her, and it was followed by the ghost of his mother's voice in his ear: Well, didn't I raise a gentleman? Bow, Fíli! For Mahal's sake!

He hastily complied, adding on, "Good evening miss," for good measure.

She curtsied to him, wishing him the same. Her voice was soft and unsure.

Yes, his mother had raised a gentleman, and he'd be damned if he showed her up in front of such a beautiful Dwarrowdam. For she was one, regardless of the fact she seemed to be living with a Hobbit, there was no doubt in his mind…except for her exceptionally curly hair. And the lack of shoes on her bare feet. Her incredibly distracting, bare feet. Never before had he found feet to be so delicate looking, but then again, never before had he had the occasion to look at a Dam's bare feet. Apart from his mother's, but those didn't count.

By the time he had pulled his gaze away from the floor, Kíli had already divested himself of his quiver and bow, and draped them over the Hobbit's shoulder. His brother was talking off the poor Halfling's ear, much to the large-footed fellow's irritation, and much to the Dam's intrigue. Fíli found that the attention she was giving Kíli irritated him. He knew his brother was handsome, many Dam's back in Erid Luin had told him so, much to Fíli's annoyance. Fíli also knew that he himself was not unattractive, given the female, and on two occasions male, attention he had garnered over the years. Though, if he was honest with himself, he knew that her wide eyed gaze at his younger brother was not the attention of attraction, but, rather a stare of wonder.

She looked as if she had never seen a Dwarf before.

But that was impossible.

Perhaps she had never met a Dwarf her age, or close to it. That wasn't uncommon. Given how far some Dwarf clans travelled, he had met other young Dwarves who had grown up as the only one within a twenty year age range. If Fíli had to guess, he would put her at Kíli's age, or, on second thought, younger. She didn't have the full sideburns of a mature Dwarrowdam, rather tuffs of golden hair in front of her ears that weren't yet past fledgling length. While some Dwarrow physically aged at a slower rate than most, it was rare, and Fíli was sure that rather than appearing young, she was in fact young. Pausing on the thought, Fíli decided that she was around sixty, or sixty-five at a push, and on the cusp of adulthood.

Which begged the question, what was she doing unchaperoned out in The Shire?

While he thought, he started to unpack his more obvious weapons. His mother had not only instilled manners befitting a royal, but those that would befall any manner of Dwarf. Wearing weapons, at least obvious weapons that were easy to spot, whilst visiting another's home was the height of bad manners in Dwarven society. It was seen as the visitor believing both that they weren't safe in the home they were visiting, and that they believed that their host could not protect them if the occasion called for it. Which was a great insult to any Dwarrow. Of course, Fíli doubted that Mr. Baggins could protect them if he needed to, particularly whilst in his patchwork robe.

"Careful with these, I've just sharpened 'em," he warned, handing over his dual swords and smirking when he saw the Hobbit's eyes widen in response. His arms were already laden with two of Kíli's large daggers. Fíli had given those to his brother the evening before they left Ered Luin with their uncle. Kíli, for all his talent with a bow and sword, needed protection for closer range fighting. He'd tried to object, but Fíli had been firm, reminding his brother that the smaller counterparts were still safely hidden on his person. It wasn't as if they were ever to be short of weapons.

If Fíli took off every single weapon he wore, he would have been doing so well into the night. On many occasions, after a long day of walking or working in the forge, or attending meeting with Thorin back in the Blue Mountains, he would forget one or two of the daggers hidden in his coat or breeches.

That was not an experience worth repeating.

Once Fíli's swords were added to the pile in the Hobbit's arms, and obviously having heard him, the lady turned her gaze to him. Her eyes were wide as she took in his daggers and throwing axes. Her awe amused him. It reminded him of when Dwalin had introduced Kíli and him to Grasper and Keeper. His war axes had inspired a mixture of fear and awe in them as Dwarflings. It was a found memory for Fíli, remembering being able to, for the first time, touch the fierce blades and hold them, with Dwalin taking the actual weight of them. Lest Fíli lose one of his fingers, and therefore Dwalin invoke the wrath of Dis.

"That's my mother's glory box! If you could please not do that!" The Hobbit shouted at his brother.

Rightfully so, as Fíli could see from the corner of his eye that his brother was wiping his muddy boots onto a carved wooden box. Rather than telling Kíli to stop, Fíli caught the Dam's eye. He liked that she watched him, as trivial as it was. It meant she saw him, and not through him. Or, like so many Dam's back in the Blue Mountains, saw the wealth of his title and the possibility of one day becoming Queen of Erebor.

Fíli knew that it didn't matter what he did, the lady would draw her own conclusions about him whether he was short, tall, fat, or thin (of which he would like to proudly declare that for a Dwarf, he fell into none of those categories). Fíli knew that many Dwarrowdams did not chose to have a partner, rather studying their craft with vigour. However, he couldn't help the fleeting image from blossoming in his minds eye of this lovely lass sat beside him, tucked under his arm and pressed against his chest in front of a warm fire. Inspiring a warmth to grow in his chest at the thought.

It was folly to think such a thing could ever happen, but the possibility of it occurring plucked away at his hopeful heartstrings, stirring emotions in him not felt before.

"Come on then, give us a hand!" Dwalin called, coming to retrieve them.

Fíli nodded to himself, and shoved aside his day dreams for the slow moving reality he now started to loath.

"Mister Dwalin," his brother greeted warmly.

Fíli smiled tightly at the grizzled warrior, wanting desperately to fall back into the illusion of running his fingers through the Dam's unruly curls as she drew mindless patterns on his tunic covered chest while they basked in the warmth of a lit fireplace.

As he passed her, her eyes haunted his thoughts, shining as blue as sunlit sapphires.

Bilbo

Bilbo had now reached the full extent of his patience. He was fluttering about, having divested himself of his robe as soon as convenient once they had all tumbled through his door, and was now following the Dwarves as they made themselves impolitely comfortable in his home.

"Here, take this one," Dori, the Dwarf sporting a grey braided beard, directed the rotund, fiery haired Dwarf with a large circular beard, handing him a platter of cooked chicken, much to the larger Dwarf's pleasure.

"Excuse me, that's my chicken!" Bilbo had entered the hallway just in time to see the Dwarves systematically carrying out his food from the pantry and ferry it across to the dining room.

One such transported item caught his eye and ignited his ire.

"And, that's my wine!" He cried. "Excuse me!"

Under normal circumstances, Bilbo would not have responded with such sharpness, but the wine was of a particularly good vintage. Being one his father had fermented several years before his passing. So the bottle held sentimental value as well as actual value.

The Dwarf turned around, his braids flying around his head. A bottle of the fine red wine held tightly in his grip. As if he knew its value. Bilbo's gaze was drawn to the axehead embedded in his skull, to which the Dwarf pointed to, seeing where Bilbo's eyes had gone. The wound was not new, but it concerned Bilbo that no one had thought to remove the object.

"Korse bafor," the Dwarf seemed to explain gravely before walking off, still with the bottle in hand.

Bilbo watched, ready to burst with stern, level toned shouting, when he saw Rosalyn intercept the Dwarf and calmly explain the wines importance. Though he didn't understand, another Dwarf, the one with the dirty hat, translated for her. Rosalyn was handed the wine and she disappeared, hopefully to place it somewhere safe.

"He's got an injury," another Dwarf, presumably the oldest given his ear horn and age lined face, piped up from behind Bilbo, startling the Hobbit.

"Oh, you mean the axe in his head?" Bilbo guessed, struggling to keep the bitter sharpness out of his tone. He was still not happy with their abrupt appearance and was running out of opportunities to tell them to sod off. His ingrained politeness was starting to wear frighteningly thin.

The Dwarf raised his ear trumpet, frowning.

"Dead?" He shook his head. "No, only between his ears. His legs work fine."

He then walked off, leaving Bilbo gaping like a fish out of water for a moment before his attention was drawn to the other Dwarves emptying his pantry. Shelves looked startlingly bare. Just where were they putting all this food? Bilbo knew his dining room table couldn't hold all the plates and bowls he had stored. They must be eating on the go, he decided, then looked down and saw the telltale crumb trail of a fruit cake. Yes, they were preparing a sit down meal while snacking. The horror.

"Put those back, put that back," Bilbo ordered, pointing to each item in the Dwarves' hands, determined to be heard. "Put that back. Not the jam, please. Excuse me. Excuse me!"

His attention was diverted by a stack of cheeses making their way out of the pantry. Bilbo looked around the load to see that the large Dwarf with the circular beard was holding them. His eyes wide and expression eager.

"Tad excessive, isn't it?" Bilbo commented, hoping to draw some sense from the Dwarf. Three wheels of cheese was far too much, even for a group of Hobbits this size, let alone Dwarves. "Have you got a cheese knife?"

"Cheese knife?" Chuffed the hat wearing Dwarf as he passed the pair, a stack of plates in hand. "He eats it by the block."

Bilbo sighed, allowing the Dwarf with the cheese to pass. It wasn't as if he could stop him, the cheese was heavy. In fact, Bilbo couldn't have lifted the three wheels by himself.

Then he spotted one of the Dwarves walking into the dining room with a wooden chair. It was the elderly one again, Bilbo hadn't caught his name. Not that any of them besides Dwalin, Balin, and the two youngsters had given their names.

"No! That's Grandpa Mungo's chair," Bilbo cried as if that explained the chair's unsuitableness for use. He put himself in front of the Dwarf and grasped the chair legs, pushing back against him. "Take it back, please."

"I can't hear what you're saying laddie," the hard of hearing Dwarf stated, pointing to his ears. His horn was hanging by his side.

"It's an antique. Not for sitting on," Bilbo persisted, enunciating his words clearly. Rosalyn then appeared from the hallways with another, much sturdier chair in hand. Dwalin intercepted her and, with a chair in each hand, exchanged it for Grandpa Mungo's chair. When Rosalyn went to take the fragile chair back, Dwalin took it himself. Bilbo could only hope that he put the chair away where it wouldn't be sat on.

The Dwarf with intricate beard appeared at Rose's elbow and ushered her into the dining room, telling her he had a pot of tea ready.

"Oh, thank you, but I'm fine," Rosalyn politely declined.

The Dwarf shook his head. "No, no, I insist. Sit here."

Bilbo, torn between seeing what tea the Dwarf had used, and physically baring the pantry with his body, turned and saw the Dwarf with the hat putting a mug of ale down on an illustrated version of the history of the Elves of Rivendell. He also held, in his grubby mittened hands, a hand drawn map of the Shire.

"This is a book, not a coaster," he pointed out, a hair's breadth from shaking his finger at him. "And put that map down."

Meanwhile, Gandalf had made his way into the atrium, standing around and trying not to be in the way of the Dwarves. Bilbo ignored him in favour of tracking down where Rose had put that bottle of wine. Finding it safely stored behind a book in the parlour, and Grandpa Mungo's chair back in it's rightful place, he returned to the melee of bodies.

Just in time to get knocked in the back by a string of sausages.

"Whoop! Mind out."

Another Dwarf passed him, snatching up the link with fast hands, and never pausing on his way into the dining room. Meanwhile, Gandalf had begun counting.

"Yes. Ah. Uh, Fíli, Kíli. Uh…Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur…Dori, Nori, Ori!" Gandalf exclaimed, seeing Ori and Bilbo engaged in a tug of war over some very red, beautifully ripe tomatoes.

"No. Not my prizewinners, thank you," Bilbo grunted, winning the war. "No, thank you."

He spun on his heel, determined to hide the tomatoes somewhere high. The pantry had a ladder for just such occasions. If only he'd thought to put a lock on the pantry doors. After all of this was over, he'd invest in one. He could never be sure this sort of thing wouldn't happen again, especially if Gandalf was to stick around.

"Um paya. Mayima rootkaliva."

"Yes, you're quite right, Bifur. We appear to be one Dwarf short."

"He is late, is all," Dwalin spoke up from leaning against the door frame, sipping from a mug of ale. Bilbo suspected it to be his third, but thought it best not to mention that. "He travelled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come."

"Mr. Gandalf? A little glass of red wine, as requested…it's got a fruity bouquet."

"Ah. Cheers."

"Bombur's on his second leg of lamb already," the fiery red headed dwarf spoke as he passed the threesome.

Bilbo startled. Second? Leg of lamb? He wasn't sure he'd heard the Dwarf correctly. Had he eaten an entire leg himself? Just how much food could these Dwarves put away?

Rosalyn

Supper, which began after they had seen that I had enough food to finish my interrupted supper and something to drink, ended surprisingly quickly, and with surprising ease. Though, not without a fair amount of mess. I had initially thought that they would need convincing that Bilbo's pantry had been exhausted. Rather, it seemed that once the Dwarves were full, they knew the evening was drawing to a close. As a group, organised or not, they moved to begin cleaning up.

I was helping stack plates in the dining room when I heard Bilbo in the hallway.

"—There's mud trod into the carpet. They-they-they've pillaged the pantry. I won't even tell you what they're done in the bathroom. They've all but destroyed the plumbing. I don't understand what they're doing in my house!"

Edging out of the dining room, I could see that he was glaring at our Wizard guest. Not without cause, but I wondered why Gandalf hadn't just told Bilbo in the first place about our impending houseguests? Why were they all here? Surely he hadn't found them and told them about me...had he? One Dwarrowdam could hardly be worth all this fuss. But why else would a Wizard bring Dwarves to Hobbiton?

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt, but what shall I do with my plate?" Ori asked, endearingly polite.

Fíli stepped out of the pantry. "Here you go Ori, give it to me." He took the plate and confidently threw it at Kíli who had just appeared, pipe in hand, from the kitchen just in time to pluck it from the air and throw it towards the sink, where I dearly hope someone caught it.

"Excuse me!" Bilbo protested. He raised his arm, making to catch another plate from the air as crockery continued to fly, but missed. "That's my mother's West Farthing crockery, it's over a hundred years old!"

Fíli, ignoring his host, was jumping about, catching and throwing cutlery and crockery in quick succession. I ducked my head, moving back and out of the line of fire. Inside the dining room, the remaining Dwarves had begun to scrape and clank the cutlery, stomping their boots to a rhythm that echoed the slide of metal on metal.

"And c—can you not do that? You'll blunt them."

"Oh, you hear that lads? He said we'll blunt the knives," Bofur chuckled, while continuing to do what Bilbo asked him not to.

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks," Kíli began to sing.

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," Fíli continued, bouncing a plate from elbow to elbow. He tossed me a wink before he threw it towards Kíli. My cheeks flushed and I felt my skin prickle under his attention.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates," the others began to join in, seeming to know the words everyone else was going to sing without hesitation. "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

I began to suspect this was something they did often.

"Cut the cloth, tread on the fat. Leave the bones on the bedroom mat, pour the milk on the pantry floor…splash the wine on every door! Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole, when you're finished, if they are whole…send them down the hall to roll!"

Bofur conjured a flute from somewhere and added a merry tune to their song, while helping to toss pottery from the dining room to the kitchen rather skilfully with his elbows. Dwalin had generated a mandolin, and was gently teasing notes from it's strings with his bow contently, occasionally head butting a cup before getting up to help Bombour clean off the plates. His musical input no longer needed. Oin, however, had taken a teapot and was playing that, blowing down the spout and lifting the lid at irregular intervals. How, I could not figure out. But sure enough, a merry little whistling tune came from the crockery rather like Bofur's flute.

Caught up watching the musical performance, when an arm took hold of mine and pulled I tripped. I was taken into Kíli's arms and he spun me about to the merry tune, singing and laughing, his mouth split by a toothy grin. He twirled me in a dizzying spin, with one hand clasping one of my own, lifting them up above my head, until I ended up in Fíli's grasp. My feet hardly had time to catch up with the rest of me before he took me into his arms without pause and lead me into the kitchen. Leading me in a dance that circled, and thankfully did not disorientate, before finishing with a flourish and laughing with me as I gained back my balance. He placed a hand on my back to help and I could feel his warmth through the fabric of my dress. I was instantly thankful I hadn't changed into my nightdress. Still feeling the effects of Kíli's twirling, I rested my hands on his chest to steady myself before realising what I had done and snatching them away, cheeks aflame.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" They all finally concluded with a loud cheer.

Nori offered Fíli a mug of ale, diverting his attention from me. He'd been looking down at me with an expression I couldn't pinpoint, and one hand had hovered in the air at my side.

Grateful, I backed away, tucking my palms against my ribs. That had been…I couldn't find the words.

They somehow managed to finish in the kitchen, all gathered around the table which was laden with stacks of clean crockery. Much to my surprise. They all fell about into laughter at the shock on Bilbo's face until two thumps on the front door stopped the merriment in its tracks.

"He is here," Gandalf declared, somewhat ominously.

We all gathered at the front door. Who had been so late as to miss supper? With the Dwarves' appetites, as I couldn't imagine a Dwarf willingly missing a meal. They rather reminded me of Hobbits with their fondness for food and ale.

Gandalf opened the door, revealing a dark haired Dwarf stood at the threshold. His brow wizened and there were laughter lines around the corner of his eyes and at the crease of his mouth. He had a close shaven beard, rather like Fíli's, that was dark and peppered with grey. The crown of his head was likewise streaked, and there was a dark light of wisdom in his eyes. I instantly knew him, he was the Dwarf I'd seen fighting the pale giant in my dream a couple of nights ago. Though decades older.

"Gandalf," he greeted, his voice low and gravely. Not as it had been in my dream, sore from screaming coarse war cries, but measured and weighted. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all if it weren't for that mark on the door."

Dori and Ori bowed their heads to him as he stepped over the threshold. I turned around and saw that all but Dwalin, Balin, Fíli and Kíli bowed to him. Who was this Dwarf?

"Mark? There's no mark on that door! It was painted a week ago!" Bilbo insisted, coming from behind Dwalin, Dori and Ori as if to investigate the mark himself.

The dark haired Dwarf ignored Bilbo's fretting, instead, taking off his bag and handing it to Kíli, who had been waiting to relieve him of it. I took a step back as the others pressed forward, my chest tightening. This felt like a dream. Rationally, I knew it wasn't, but seeing a Dwarf I had only seen in a vision now stood in Bilbo's entranceway scared me. It meant I had been seeing real events. The undeniable proof stood before me, greeting the other Dwarves with a warm smile.

"There is a mark, I put it there myself," Gandalf soothed, closing the door so Bilbo could not go out to see the mark for himself. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

The name had no meaning to Bilbo, who looked between Wizard and Dwarf waiting for an explanation. I had a feeling he wouldn't be getting one anytime soon.

"So…this is the Hobbit," Thorin said, surveying Bilbo closely. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?"

"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"

"Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know," Bilbo started to comment, the sarcastic Took in him coming about, only to be quietened when Thorin returned to face him head on, crossing his arms as he watched Bilbo closely. "…but I fail to see why that's relevant."

"Thought as much," Thorin smirked, sending a look over his shoulder to the rest of the Dwarves. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The troop chuckled with him before leading and following the way into the dining room. Bilbo just stood still, and I knew he was processing what had just happened, like me. Once all of the Dwarves were out of sight, Gandalf collapsed slightly against the eaves of the front door, huffing as if exhausted. Whereas Bilbo looked to be pondering if he should take offence to Thorin's comment or not. Steeling myself, I moved forward from my shadowed cove towards the Wizard.

"Gandalf?" I asked. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Rosalyn, I am fine." He sighed, straightening as much as he could to his normal height. "I believe it is going to be a very long night. A very long night indeed."

Thorin must have heard my voice for he had stopped in the main atrium, looking back the way he had come, his eyes narrowing when he finally saw me emerge from behind Gandalf's tall form, Bilbo a step behind me.

"And who is this?" He directed his question to Gandalf, though his eyes did not stray from me.

His intense gaze made me want to run away, but I stood my ground, fisting my hands so tight I could feel my fingernails biting into the flesh of my palms.

"Oh! Forgive my rudeness," Gandalf apologised. "Miss Rosalyn, this is Thorin Oakensheild. Thorin, this is Miss Rosalyn. She is currently Mr. Baggins' charge."

Thorin raised an elegant eyebrow, his piercing gaze shifting from myself to Bilbo for a moment.

"Is that so?" He murmured. "And how did a young Dwarrowdam become a Hobbit's charge so far from any Dwarven settlement?"

Nervous, I spared a glance at Dwalin, stood at Thorin's shoulder. He was steadfast, and nodded to me in reassurance. Thorin noticed.

"It, erm…it's a, a long story," I hesitantly admitted, very aware of the intently listening ears close by.

Thorin hummed thoughtfully. "Then it is a good thing we have the rest of the night."

"Yes," Gandalf agreed, appearing very pleased by this development. "Perhaps it can be explained while you have something to eat, Thorin?"

Bilbo perked up upon hearing this and, despite his earlier grumbling, became the perfect host.

"Of course," he said. "Mister Oakenshield, if you'd like to wait in the dining room, I'm sure your companions will show you the way, I'll fetch you what is left of the food and drink."

Thorin looked a cross between amused and grateful, nodding to Bilbo slightly as a sign of respect. The rest of the Dwarves smiled to themselves and gladly began to lead Thorin into the dining room. Gandalf stood watching it all with a patient, if slightly surprised, smile. Meanwhile, I felt a little dazed.

"Miss Rosalyn," came the deep, polite voice of Thorin himself as he waited a few steps from us. "Would you care to join us?"

It was beginning to dawn on me that this Dwarf was important, and I would do well to not upset him. But, in the back of my mind, there was an inkling that I had met this Dwarf before. Or at least heard of him beyond what I knew of him from my dream, but I couldn't say where or when with any certainty. He obviously did not know me, so why would I know him?

He held out his arm towards me, indicating for me to walk with him. I did so with hesitation, for although I did not know who he was, there was no mistaking the air of importance that flowed about Thorin Oakenshield. He certainly cast an imposing figure, maybe he was a Lord of some sort, like the Elves in Bilbo's books?

We walked into the dining room, and I took the seat that Balin pulled out for me, on his left side and next to the head of the table where Bofur had been sat while they were eating. Now, everyone avoided the chair, instead squashing together along the sides of the dining table, Bombour being the only exception. Though I believed that was wise considering his width, who was sat at the opposite end of the table quite contently munching away on a wedge of cheese he had produced from thin air.

Thorin took the empty chair to my left, completing the arrangement as Gandalf took the slightly larger chair he had occupied at dinner to Thorin's left. Now, everyone was seated bar Bilbo, and there was a fluttering of nervousness in my gut at the knowledge that I was alone with strangers. Hearing Bilbo potter around in the kitchen was of little comfort when he would have to get past several large Dwarves to get to me.

"Now, Miss Rosalyn," Thorin began, resting his forearms on the table top in front of him. "How is it that you found your way here?"

"Umm, well." Taking a breath, I tried to squash the feeling panic rising in my chest. They were Dwarves, they could help me. But Dwalin's warning from earlier lingered and I dreaded what could happen when my ears were revealed. What would they think? "I don't know."

Silence followed my words. Dwalin watched me and the others with guarded eyes, clearly waiting for the questioning to break out. Gandalf, meanwhile, was cleaning out his pipe, one eye fixed on the proceedings, the other on his task.

"You don't know?" Ori questioned from the far end of the table. I could see his mittened hands clutching at each other nervously.

I nodded, and swallowed to try and move the lump of nerves in my throat. Though they were all strangers to me, I felt a kind of kinship towards them, they were, after all Dwarves, and therefore in some way family to me. Even if we had different physical features.

"I woke up in a nearby field a week ago in the middle of the night," I expanded, recalling the night in my minds eye. "I had no memory of how I came to be there, nor of who I was…am…anything. I followed the only light I could see, and found myself entering Hobbiton. I passed a few doors, but the lights inside were out. Bilbo's was the first home I came across with a light inside. I knocked and he answered, taking me in and helping me. I've been here, in his care, ever since."

"You said you didn't know who you are," Balin questioned gently after a moment of silence. "Do you still not remember anything, lass?"

"Well," I hesitated, finding the thought of explaining my dreams uncomfortable, so I kept those to myself for the time being. I could tell them later, once things were more settled. "I remember some things, snippets of memory that appear like fragments at times. But, no, I still do not know who I am. It is only by chance I remembered my name. Bilbo brought in a bunch of roses from his garden, and once I saw them, I knew my name. Before that I was using the name Flower, ironically."

At this point, Bilbo appeared and handed Thorin a bowl of hot, rich stew, a mug of frothy ale I had a hunch was from the hidden barrel in the cold room, and a plate of the only bread left from the Dwarves' pillaging, which he took gratefully. Bilbo also placed a mug of mint tea in front of me, smiling gently and placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I returned the smile, grateful at his presence and his ability to know when I needed comfort. The tea provided me with the excellent excuse to stop talking, and take a fortifying sip.

"So, you were alone. Completely?" Dori asked. He seemed to not understand, frowning deeply in what I concluded to be distress.

I nodded, taking another sip. Bilbo had found my favourite mug, and even though it was a small comfort, the familiarity of it gave me strength. I had a home here. I had a favourite mug. I had Bilbo. Even if these Dwarves refused to help, or couldn't help, in the end I would still have my mug, I would still have Bilbo, Hilda and Daisy.

The group began to mutter to each other, their tones rank with disproval. This I wasn't expecting.

"What is it?"

The taller red haired Dwarf, Gloin, shook his head. "No Dwarf, no respectable Dwarf, would have ever left a Dwarrowdam alone. Never."

He looked utterly repulsed by the very idea, shivering slightly, his bushy eyebrows meeting together on his brow.

Nori slapped at the table in agitation. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Was there nothing with you? A bag, coin, anything with you when you woke up?" Fíli asked, a small frown pinching his brow.

I shook my head. "No, nothing. I didn't even have any shoes on, nor a cloak."

This caused the group further distress.

"Bilbo and Dwalin told me that it is very unorthodox for a Dwarrowdam to be left alone," I supplied meekly.

Thorin turned to Dwalin with an arched eyebrow. "He did, did he?"

"Aye, I did," Dwalin grumbled back, arms crossing over his chest in a defensive move.

One corner of Thorin's mouth pulled upwards in the shadow of a smile as he turned back to me, tearing off a chunk of bread. "What else did he tell you?"

Remembering, I couldn't hold back the shiver of terror that caused gooseflesh to break out on my arms. The elder Dwarrow noticed and visibly tensed, furtive glances traded as wordless conversations began. Did they know the events Dwalin had described to me? The youngest, Fíli, Kíli and Ori were confused, but I was loath to explain. If they did not know about the occurrences with the two Dwarrowdams, then they might not know the circumstances that could have befallen me in the vacant space of my missing memory. What would they think if they knew the possibilities of my past?

"Rose," Bilbo's voice was soft and gentle from beside me. "We can stop if you want, there's no reason for you to think on such things."

Blinking, I came back to myself. They were all watching me with concern, worry, fear and in a few, surprising cases, affection.

"What?"

Bilbo smiled. "You were in your own little world for a while there. You don't have to talk about this any more if you don't want to."

My cheeks flushed with heat, I must have been quiet for a while, and they must have been waiting for me to speak.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for dear," Balin reassured me, patting my arm.

"I'm okay, really, I just…got a little distracted," I explained quietly.

Dwalin cleared his throat. "I told the lass about the two Dam's who went missing on the trade routes," he explained, taking the responsibility from me.

Understanding dawned on every face except for Kíli's. It seemed Fíli and Ori did know about the circumstances that could have befallen me. And by the clouds of anger, sorrow and frustration on many of their faces, they knew what that could entail all too well.

"What Dam's?" Kíli asked, a curious frown on his face as his eyes flickered between Dwalin, myself, Thorin and Fíli.

Fíli cleared his throat. "Never mind Kí, it's not something that needs to be discussed so openly."

I glanced at him, grateful, a shy smile on my lips. This Dwarf had only just met me but was willing to provide me with comfort and understanding. If he carried on, I would begin to hope they wouldn't abandon me.

"Fíli's right," Thorin rumbled approvingly, and I could practically feel the pride in his gaze. Where they related? "Onto other matters, we shall revisit Miss Rosalyn's situation later on."

A murmur of agreement passed around the table, Gandalf remaining silent as he watched us all, but I could have sworn there was a small uplift to his lips. I settled back into my chair and watched them. Were they finally going to tell Bilbo and I why they were here?

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" Balin asked once Thorin had eaten more of the stew. "Did they all come?"

"Aye. envoys from all seven kingdoms."

Envoys? Kingdoms? Were they talking about Dwarven clans? Bilbo had told me a little, but his book collection was woefully under stocked to reeducate me about my own heritage.

"All of them!" Balin exclaimed, pleased.

The rest of the group chuckled and smiled at each other.

"And what did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin questioned. "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin put down his spoon and took a breath, steadying himself to deliver what I could only guess was bad news.

"They will not come," he admitted.

The troop muttered in disappointment. I could see Kíli shaking his head, a ferice scowl on his face.

"They said this quest is ours and ours alone," Thorin continued.

There was a brief moment of silence before Bilbo broke through it with his curiosity. He'd moved to stand behind me, watching from the shadows.

"You're going on a quest?"

"Ah, Bilbo," Gandalf spoke, looking up at the Hobbit behind me. "My dear fellow, let us have a little more light."

Bilbo fetched a candle with an agreeable hum.

"Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak," Gandalf said as he unfurled a parchment he'd produced from his sleeve. It looked old, creased and time worn.

Bilbo peered over at the map, close to Thorin's side, reading as he placed the candle down. "The Lonely Mountain?"

"Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time," Gloin spoke up, his chest puffed up in what I imagined was defiance to any argument against his words.

Portents? Those were signs, weren't they? Like omens.

Gandalf, meanwhile plucked up his pipe and set about lighting it, with his fingertip. He even forgot it was still lit and was quickly burnt by it, but the occurrence didn't seem to bother the Man very much. I stared in wonder at him for a moment before he caught my eye and winked.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold," Oin spoke up from beside Fíli. "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast shall end."

"Uh, what beast?" Bilbo asked tentatively.

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age," Bofur answered, pipe in hand as he gestured with his words, waiting for Bilbo to guess what he was talking about with every new clue he gave. "Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely found of precious metals."

My head felt light and my vision began to blur as Bofur's words resonated in my mind. I could smell the smoke of Gandalf's pipe, burning my at nose as if I were right beside him.

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo's voice echoed in my ears.

Feeling as if I were about to fall over, I steadied myself with a hand on the table. My sight fogged for a moment. I tried to blink it away.

"Rose?" Bilbo asked quietly, having noticed my stumble for balance.

My vision restored but it left an ache behind my eyes. "I'm okay Bilbo, a little tired."

He eyed me speculatively.

Ori, who had before now been quiet as a mouse in the middle of the night, now stood up suddenly, face twisted in angry passion. "I'm not afraid!" He shouted. "I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!"

"Good lad!" Nori cheered, thumping his younger brother on the back.

"Ori!" Dori admonished. "There's a lady present!"

"Sorry, miss!" Ori squeaked as his brother pinched his ear and pulled him back down into his chair.

Dori was not through. "Sit down!" He growled.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us…but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best…nor brightest," Balin observed, mouth in a thin, grim line.

"Here, who are you calling dim?" Nori demanded, leading the way for the rest to begin arguing about how fit they were for battle.

Bombour, during all the commotion and fall out from Balin's comment, was the only one not arguing, instead looking at the rest of the pork pie that he held in his hand, munching away contemplatively with a small frown squeezing his eyebrows together. I wondered what he was thinking of so heavily that his enthusiastic chewing from earlier had slowed to the thoughtful chomp that now worked his jaw. And just where was he pulling all this leftover food from? Did he have hidden pockets on his person he had secreted food into during supper?

"What did he say?" Oin asked, ear trumpet firmly in his ear.

"We may be few in number," Fíli stated with a strong, firm voice, thumping a fist onto the table to extenuate his point. "But we're fighters, all of us, to the last Dwarf!"

Thorin nodded at Fíli, which Fíli returned, a look of understanding passing between them, and pride shining in Throin's eyes.

"And you forget, we have a Wizard in our company. Gandalf would have killed hundreds of dragons in his time," Kíli continued on from his brother enthusiastically.

"Oh, well now. I wouldn't say—" Gandalf began.

"Well, how many then?" Dori asked.

"What?"

"Well, how many dragons have you killed?"

Gandalf remained silent, coughing uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"Go on, give us a number!" Dori cried.

They all descended into anarchy, shouting and crying out at each other.

"Excuse me, please," Bilbo tried to intercede unsuccessfully, his voice barely heard over the racket.

We were only bystanders. I half wanted to get up and leave the room. I could wait if all they were going to do was argue.

"Shazar!" Thorin shouted and stood up.

The Dwarves instantly fell silent. I had the distinct impression that Thorin had shouted the Dwarfish equivalent of 'quiet'. Though, on second thought, maybe it wasn't as polite as that.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?" He spoke with such power, it left little doubt in my mind that he was their leader. "Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon, Smaug, has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

He raised a fist and clamoured: "Du Bekar! Du Bekar!"

The rest responded triumphantly, fists waving in solidarity, cheers cried and smiles shared.

"You forget, the Front Gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain," Balin struck down their joy. Though I could see it gave him no pleasure to do so.

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf said, producing a key from thin air.

"How came you by this?" Thorin asked, mesmerised.

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain. For safe keeping. It is yours now."

They all watched the key with a reverence I didn't' understand.

"If there is a key, then there must be a door," Fíli said.

The realisation of this spread across all the Dwarves faces and I could not find a fault in them for looking like eager children. This sounded like a quest many years in the making. How long had they waited? Thorin had said the dragon had not been seen in sixty years, but I wasn't sure of the significance of that.

"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls."

Kíli gripped his brother's shoulder, a wide grin on his face. "There's another way in."

Gandalf shrugged. "Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." He sighed. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can."

Bofur leaned forward to see the map, his brow pinched in curiosity.

"The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage." He looked to Bilbo and I. "But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori stated, nodding as if now the plan only just made sense.

I was still waiting to hear why they were here.

"Hmm," Bilbo agreed. "And a good one too. An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" Balin asked shrewdly.

Oh.

Bilbo blinked. "Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert, hey, hey!" Oin mistakenly celebrated, earning him a confused look from Fíli.

"Me?" Bilbo backed up a pace. "No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material." Balin observed.

"Nope," Bilbo agreed.

Thorin cast a watchful eye over his company and back, out of the corner of his eye to Bilbo behind him. Did he truly expect Bilbo to steal from a dragon? Was this why he asked what Bilbo's weapon of choice?

"Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," Dwalin cast his opinion with a growl.

"He's fine," Kíli argued back, slightly whining.

The group then dissolved into chattering again. This seemed to be a conversation often had, as Ori started to vehemently demand that he go with the group, and that he could fight when the occasion called for it. During this, I noticed Bifur muttering away under his breath while making graphic hand gestures of decapitation and what looked like the crumbling of shattered bones…or was it the fluttering of ashes in the wind?

"Enough!" Gandalf shouted, a black cloud spreading out from behind him to branch out to the roof and walls, shadowing us all. I leant back in my chair and tried to keep from toppling over. "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is. Hobbit's are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the scent of Dwarf, the smell of Hobbit, is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."

Gandalf sat back down, the darkness behind him receding.

"You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know…including himself." Gandalf leant forward to Thorin, earnestly. "You must trust me on this."

The pair locked eyes and the entire room held their breath. Even Bilbo, who should have a say in his being hired as a burglar, remained silent.

Finally, Thorin nodded. "Very well, we will do it your way."

Bilbo came back to life, looking around for a way out of the predicament he'd been cornered into. "No, no."

"Give him a contract."

"Please."

"We're in. We're off," Bofur proclaimed happily, completely ignoring the bleats of his reluctant burglar.

Balin stood, parchment contract in hand. "It's just the usual," he informed Bilbo, passing the paper in front of me. It looked thick. "Summary of out-of-pocket expenses…time required, remuneration…funeral arrangements so forth."

Thorin, seeming annoyed by Bilbo's lack of action, took the contract and tossed it over his shoulder to him, clapping the parchment to his chest as Bilbo began to sort through the words that had been spoken to him.

"Funeral arrangements?" He questioned weakly. I felt rather faint myself.

He took the contract and unfurled it, sighing deeply when he saw the length of the document.

Thorin, meanwhile, had stood and was now leaning towards Gandalf, the two trading whispers as Bilbo read aloud.

"Terms: cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit, it any. Seems fair. Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to lacerations…evisceration…incineration?" At this, he looked incredulously back into his dining room at the Dwarves watching him read the contract.

"Oh aye," Bofur quickly answered. "He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."

None of the other Dwarves seemed alarmed by the contents of the contract. Had they signed one too? Bilbo closed the contract, wavering a little on his feet, suddenly looking pale. I could sympathise, feeling my gut lurch at the image brought to mind.

"You all right, laddie?" Balin asked.

"Huh? Yeah. Feel a bit faint."

Bofur stood, a mischievous look in his eye. "Think furnace with wings."

Bilbo tried to fan himself with the paper. "Air…I—I need air."

"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof. You're nothing more than a pile of ash."

There was a moment when we all watched Bilbo, and for a second I thought he would be all right, but then again…he was looking peaky.

"Nope." Bilbo then, rather promptly, fainted as he finished the last syllable of the word, onto the rug with a thump. He didn't so much as twitch once on the ground.

"Very helpful Bofur," Gandalf grumbled as he stood to help Bilbo.

Bofur merely cocked his head in what I thought was faked confusion until he spoke.

"Odd little fellow," he commented thoughtfully. "Even Kíli didn't faint when I told him about dragons as a Dwarfling."

"Hey!" Came Kíli's squark of indignation, and then the troop was back to good naturally ribbing one another, their Hobbit host forgotten on the floor.

I squeezed myself past them and helped Gandalf move Bilbo from the floor. There wasn't a doubt in my mind he'd have a sore head when he woke up.

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