Thank you to the lovely reviewer of the last chapter! I hope you all enjoy this one, too. Please forgive any mistakes I might have made.

Chapter Five: The Knock in the Night

Hunched over a steaming cup of coffee, Frodo groaned, and Bilbo shook his head.

"I warned you," he tutted. "If you drink with dwarves, you will regret it in the morning. Here…" He took the coffee and replaced it with milk thistle tea. "That will help far better than coffee will. Trust me."

Frodo grabbed at the cup eagerly, before quickly pulling back his hands.

"Yes, it is hot." Bilbo sighed, but he could not help but smile, and stroke Frodo's dishevelled curls. "What are we going to do with you, my boy?"

Frodo closed his eyes, leaning against Bilbo's hand the way he had done when he was a child. Then he shrugged slightly. "Don't know," he mumbled, sounding half asleep.

Chuckling, Bilbo returned to the pile of dishes left from luncheon. It was well past noon, and while most of the family had dragged themselves down through the drizzle to help clean up the meadow, Frodo had only just risen from bed.

"Bilbo?" he asked, his voice raw from sleep.

"Aye?"

Frodo cleared his throat, staring down at the mug in his hands. "I've been thinking… I'm not – I'm not sure what it is I want, anymore…"

Bilbo paused, dishcloth in hand, and turned to look at his nephew. "In what sense?"

"What I want in my life," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on his tea. "Where – where I want to be, in the future, and…"

"Ah." Bilbo leant against the counter and sipped Frodo's abandoned coffee. "You want to stay here, when we return to Erebor."

Frodo's head snapped up so fast that he winced and rubbed his neck, but even as he did so he shook his head. "No, no! That's not what I meant! But, at the same time… yes. I don't know what I want, or where I want to be. The Shire is still my home, but… it would not be the same if I were the only one here. If – I do not know that I would like it. And Erebor is my home, too. While I am here, I miss the mountain, and the markets and our family there, I miss Thorin… But when I am there, I miss the Shire. The hobbits, the fields, the little rivers… I miss the simplicity of life here. I just cannot seem to make up my mind."

Bilbo sat down across the table and took Frodo's hand. "You may never truly be able to. It is both a blessing and a curse, my boy, to have a heart that dwells in two places at once. Choosing one place will not exile you from the other, and should you wish to stay here, Bag End is yours to dwell in. You're old enough now that it is your choice, and it is not an easy one. But you do not have to make it now. We're not to leave until October's end, after all. You have time."

"I don't think I'll say behind this time," said Frodo quickly, almost knocking over his tea. "But maybe, one day…"

"We'll see," said Bilbo, squeezing his hand. "It's a big world out there, my lad. And wherever you choose to go, I will be with you, one way or another."

Frodo smiled, squeezing Bilbo's hand back. "Thank you."

"Don't be silly," scoffed Bilbo, gently swatting the back of Frodo's head. "That's what family is for, after all. Now, drink up your tea, it will make you feel better."

As he took a sip, Frodo's face curled into the same grimace he had made since he was an infant. "It tastes awful…"

"It does not," said Bilbo. "It's good for you!"

"Uncle Thorin would've put sugar in for me," Frodo said as he took another sip, and Bilbo tutted.

"Yes, well, I'm not Uncle Thorin now, am I? He does spoil you with your food, that dwarf… sugar on tomatoes, I do say…"

"I do like tomatoes now," teased Frodo. "You could never do that."

"Well, that's hardly the point," said Bilbo, puffing up his chest in a display of mock irritation. "My, if folk saw the disrespect I am deal on a daily basis they would be appalled."

Frodo grinned, and stared back at his tea. Then, out of nowhere, he looked up and said softly, "Thank you, Bilbo."

Bilbo smiled, and gave a nod. "You're welcome."

Frodo returned to his tea, and Bilbo to his dishes. A little splinter of guilt eased into Bilbo's heart as he relaxed. He was sure that Frodo, at least for now, would choose to stay with him, with his family, but he knew that it would not be an easy choice. It had not been an easy choice for Sam, for many years. In some ways, Bilbo had it easier. There was no choice, now, for him. He would stay with his wife, with his sons. He had made his place, his nest, and if Frodo wished to fly from it, Bilbo would not clip his wings, but he hoped that his littlest one would stay.

It took said littlest one three days to fully recover from the party, between his hangover, exhaustion and astonishment at having so large a party thrown in his honour. But by the fourth day he was happy enough to traipse to the Green Dragon with his cousins for the evening.

"You'll be asleep before we get back," he promised, following Bofin and Bróin out of the door. "I've got my key. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good night! And don't let your cousins get drunk!" Bilbo added, in a yell that probably sailed right over their retreating heads. Bilbo sighed, but behind him, Kíli snickered.

"Everyone does it at their age, Bilbo. They'll be fine! Let them have their fun – we can laugh at Frodo's second hangover in the morning."

Bilbo did not bother replying – he knew that Kíli was right. He also knew that the less he knew, the better, so he headed to the bathroom for a nice long bath before bed.

Before his last true moments of rest for many a night to come.

The house was woken by a bang on the door, so loud it sounded like someone was trying to break in. Kíli groaned and rolled over, flattening his pillow over his head.

"Frodo," he groaned. "What happened to your key?"

The banging rang out again, and Kíli sighed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and tucking a nearby knife into his dressing gown. Then, he hopped over a stirring Fíli and stumbled to the door.

"Wha's goin' on?" Bragi groaned groggily.

"I don't know," Kíli murmured. "Probably nothing. Maybe something. Come running if you hear me scream."

"Righto," yawned Bragi, though Kíli knew that Bragi was now shaking off his own sleep.

Kíli shuffled to the door, his heart rate increasing now as the knocking on the door grew louder and faster.

"Kíli?" came a sleepy voice behind him. It was Bilbo, and soft, thudding footsteps from the other direction told him that at least one of Bombur's children was awake too.

Glancing over at Bilbo, Kíli shrugged and then peered out of the window by the door. It was dark, but he could just about make out the vague shape of a large, ragged figure in a cloak. Far, far too big to be Frodo, Bofin and Bróin. A chill ran down Kíli's spine and his hand tightened around his knife.

"Who is it?" he barked.

"Gandalf!" a booming voice replied. "It is Gandalf, Kíli Baggins, and I highly suggest that you open the door, now!"

Startled, Kíli paused for a moment, before sliding the bolt across and opening the door. His stomach churned.

It was indeed Gandalf standing outside the door, but Kíli had never seen him in such a state, not even after the Battle of the Five Armies.

His hat was gone, and his hair was matted with blood and filth. His grey robes looked more like brown, but they were splattered with stains of green and black and deep red, and torn far beyond their usual scruffiness. But his attire, for all its filth and holes, was nothing compared to his face.

Gandalf was emaciated. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, and his nose looked as though it had been broken several times, and recently. He was so gaunt that his skin hung looser than ever, his wrinkles all the more pronounced, and he looked more fragile and delicate than Kíli could ever have imagined him. There was a deep gash through one of his eyebrows, sitting in the middle of a green-tinged bruise, and there was blood staining his beard.

It was the eyes that shocked Kíli the most. They were fathomless, empty and haunted, but fear shone on the surface clear as crystal.

"Gandalf!" Kíli cried, flinging open the door. "Come in, come in! You look awful! What happened? Where have you been? Are you alright – are you hurt?"

"One thing at a time, my dear Kíli," Gandalf's mouth twitched towards a smile for just a fraction of a second as he ducked inside. "Where is Bilbo?"

"I'm here," Kíli's father scurried over. "What's wrong?"

The urgency in Gandalf's tone increased further. "Is it secret? Is it safe?"

Kíli's stomach gave an odd sort of lurch – he had an idea that he knew what they were talking about.

"Well, uh, yes, I think s-" The blood drained from Bilbo's face, and he turned to his son. "Kíli, is Frodo back yet? Is he in the Redhead room?"

Kíli swallowed and glanced at Gandalf. "I do not know."

"Go, check, please," Bilbo said, staring up at the wizard as Kíli hurried away. "My dear Gandalf, what on earth has happened to you?"

"I do not have the time to explain it to you, Bilbo, we have precious little time to waste. The nine have risen, I am not certain that I have completely outrun them."

"The nine?" Bilbo repeated blankly.

"We must be swift; you are not safe here."

"What on earth do you mean?" Bilbo spluttered.

"They have been seen in the Shire, disguised as riders in black," Gandalf said hurriedly. "We have barely the time to-"

There was another knock on the door.

Gandalf's eyes hardened and he seized Bilbo's shoulder, hissing in a barely audible voice. "You have bags, pre-packed emergency bags?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Wake them up, wake them all up," Gandalf muttered quickly, his eyes darkening as the door knocked again. "Slowly, quietly. Leave out the back and stay out of sight, make for Rivendell."

"Rivendell?" Bilbo hissed, looking frantically at the door. "Gandalf, there are children here, they are too young to run to Rivendell in the middle of the night! And what are these riders you speak of? If they are as dangerous as your eyes tell me that they are we will not stand a chance!"

Gandalf's lips pursed. " Tell Kíli and the others to hide, that they must be silent. Stop anyone from entering the hall in sight of the door. Then hide yourself, Bilbo, and do not come out until I call for you. Go. Go!"

Bilbo bustled into the kitchen, his heart banging against his ribs. He caught Kíli coming out of the Redhead room, shaking his head. Bilbo put a finger on his lips, and whispered in his son's ear. "Take Bodin to his sisters, keep everyone silent and keep them inside, out of sight."

"Is everything-"

"Go, Kíli. Now."

With one final, concerned look at Bilbo, Kíli slipped into of the hall. Bilbo scurried after him, turning right in time to catch Fíli, who was stepping out of the bedroom door.

"No, Fíli!" Bilbo put his hand on the dwarf's chest, watching the mild concern in his blue eyes deepen to fear. Keeping his voice as calm as he could, Bilbo pushed his step-son back. "Stay where you are, keep silent, all of you."

"Kíli-"

"Is fine. Now get inside, close the door, and don't make a sound."

A cold, rasping voice travelled down the hall, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Shire… Baggins…"

"You will find no Bagginses here!" Gandalf snapped.

Bilbo sped up, keeping his footsteps noiseless as he hurried past his own bedroom, spotting Bofur exiting the furthest bedroom down the hall, where most of the adult dwarves were staying. Once he had convinced Bofur, and the others to stay in their respective rooms, he snuck back towards the front hall, through the drawing room to better hear what Gandalf was saying.

"We were told that Bagginses lived here," the cold voice hissed, "the Bagginses of Erebor. We will reward-"

A sudden craving tugged Bilbo's hands towards his pocket. He fingered the golden ring, and the cold, hissing voice grew louder.

"They are here!"

Gandalf's voice boomed back. "No!"

Bilbo jumped, and he felt the blood drain from his face. Gandalf's instructions flooded back to him, and he darted to the large wardrobe that stood by the desk. He clambered inside, squeezing among the old cloaks, coats, knick-knacks and debris that had been shoved into it. He could hardly fit inside, but he managed to pull the door to. Feeling like a child who had been left with the worst hiding place in a game of hide and seek, Bilbo closed his eyes and listened.

"They are not here," Gandalf was saying, "I don't know who they told you, but they were wrong. I do not know where they are."

"Lies," the voice hissed, "do not lie to me, mortal."

"I do not lie!" Gandalf's voice raised. "Begone from this place!"

There was a pause, and then a shriek that seemed to pierce bone, and the wizard's name screamed from a voice that stopped Bilbo's heart.

"Gandalf!"

Frodo.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter – sorry it's a little short (and perhaps a little more typo-full, though I certainly hope not) but I am rather tired, and did not want to disappoint with the Advent Calendar. Please let me know what you think, and how you suppose a little trip to the pub might change things…