Thank you all so much for your incredible reviews! I'm still reeling that this little story is as popular as it is and so I thank you all! It seems like my review count and followers count is having a race in this story, and it makes me so happy that there are so many of you wanting to follow it. If everyone who followed it left one review for this chapter, my reviews would double and that idea is just awesome!

Anyway, forgive any mistakes as usual :)

NB: There is a song in this chapter that is from neither Tolkien nor me. It's a child's song (at the bottom I'll put a note to say who it belongs to) but I came up with the idea and rather liked it, so I hope that you'll forgive me for taking a little creative licence and putting a song from here in there. In my defence the message, lyrics and even tune tie into the context but though I've put all the lyrics don't feel forced to read them if you know them/don't really want to. It's a bit of a gamble for me so I hope you like it.

Read. Enjoy. Review.

Chapter Twenty Six # Puff the Magic Dragon #

Drifting down a river in a small boat with thirteen dwarves for two days straight was not Bilbo's idea of a good time under any circumstances. Unlike his adventurous son, Bilbo had never been too comfortable with the idea of being in or on water for extended periods of time, and Nori's threats of throwing him into the water like a babe to teach him how to swim were taken more seriously than a joke would normally have been, given that the company trickster was the one laughing.

"You need to relax, Bilbo." A familiar voice deposited his own pipe into his hands as its owner sat down beside the unhappy hobbit. "The people of Lake-town would be in big trouble if they didn't know how to make sturdy vessels like this 'un."

"I know…" Bilbo sighed, filling his pipe with a grateful nod to Bofur. "But hobbits don't like water."

"So you've said… and yet still our hobbit throws himself into a raging river without his own barrel in order to escape with his friends…"

A loud cough came from the other side of the boat. "My hobbit, Bofur. My hobbit."

Bilbo and Bofur raised their eyebrows in a unison that made Fíli laugh at Kíli's claim.

"I'm pretty sure, lad that this here halfling happens to be our company burglar, which makes him our hobbit." Bofur proclaimed, throwing an arm around Bilbo's shoulder so enthusiastically that it knocked the hobbit so hard his face almost smashed into the deck.

As Bilbo choked on the smoke from his pipe weed, Kíli retorted smartly. "I'm pretty sure, lad that that there halfling happens to be my father, which makes him my hobbit."

"Our hobbit." Bofur corrected with a light wave of his hand.

Kíli leant forward, grinning devilishly. "My hobbit."

"Our hobbit." Bofur laughed.

"My hobbit." Kíli sang.

"Our hobbit!" Bofur narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"My hobbit!" Kíli growled.

Amused by the possessiveness of stubborn dwarves, Bilbo thought nevertheless that it would be wise to stop this before Thorin, Dwalin or Glóin felt the need to, which would undoubtedly destroy the lightest mood the company had enjoyed for days. None of the company's three grumps looked half as amused as Bilbo was.

"That's funny," Bilbo cut across Bofur's reply. "I was under the impression that I was my own person. I was completely unaware that I belonged to anyone."

"That's where you're wrong, my dear Bilbo." Kíli beamed at him, and for a moment Bilbo just looked at the bright eyes of his son. As dark as they were in colour, Kíli's eyes had always held such a bright light, and the expressive qualities of the brown orbs were incredible. Now, as they bored into Bilbo's own eyes, they told him just how pleased Kíli was that his grown-up father was playing along with his games.

Bilbo wondered how he could have allowed so innocent a boy to join such a crazy adventure. Kíli needed neither gold nor stone to be happy, they both knew it. One witty comment from a playful friend or family member was all it took for Kíli to light up like the sun.

He quickly snapped out of his reverie in time to hear Kíli continue. "You've been my slave for twenty-one years."

The young dwarf was still grinning like a clown. Cheeky blighter. "Is that so?"

"It is… I've had you wrapped around my little finger-"

"That I believe." Bofur chipped in.

"And you'd jump out of this boat right now if I told you to." Kíli finished smugly.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "I most certainly would not. I am my own hobbit, thank you very much. That settles your debate."

Kíli opened his mouth and then paused, closing it again and considering that. "Oh, fine... But you're still more mine than Bofur's!"

"You sound more like your uncle every day." Óin snorted.

Kíli grinned, puffing out his chest a little before frowning. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Dwalin roared with laughter, clapping a hand to Thorin's shoulder before addressing Kíli. "That would depend on why you sound like him."

"True…" Kíli smiled, though he blushed and broke eye contact with Dwalin rather quickly.

Ah, so he remembers last night, then… Bilbo realised. Well, as long as no one brings it up, he should be-

"So what else are you scared of, brother dear?"

Kíli scowled at Fíli's question with a surprising (and frightening) amount of resemblance to his dwarven uncle, and Bilbo judged it would soon be a good time to step in. Again.

"I am sorry about last night, Mister Dwalin." Kíli looked up at the warrior with his chin tucked a little closer to his neck as it always was when he used his puppy-dog eyes to worm his way out of trouble.

Dwalin chuckled softly, though even the hobbit recognised the brief flash of pain that trespassed across the old warrior's eyes. "Don't worry about it, lad. I've heard a lot worse."

"I've said a lot worse," Kíli nodded innocently, before a small grin split across his face.

"I think you should tell them what you said to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins." Bilbo grinned.

"Truthfully, Bilbo, I don't remember that day at all…" Kíli admitted, before his storytelling nature took over, fed by the curious looks of many of his fellows. "I'd never consumed any alcohol before… it would have been what, nineteen years ago?"

Bilbo counted back and nodded. "Around that… I sent him off with the usual trio to collect my special ordered Old Winyard from Mr Bracegirdle, and somehow the rascals managed to persuade the old hobbit that I had also ordered a flagon of whisky-"

"We told him you'd given us money for it and we paid him." Kíli interrupted. "You make it sound as if I'm the burglar in the family."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Well go on, you tell them what happened next."

Kíli grinned, his eyes glazing over a little with nostalgia. "We were all still young children so ole Bracegirdle never expected us to do anything other than deliver it to Bilbo, especially as only Esme and I actually went to his house. Paladin and Saradoc look like they're up to no good all the time – even when they're behaving like saints – but Esme and I were pretty good at looking innocent. So anyway, we brought the Old Winyard to Bilbo and ran back out, smuggling our whisky to our Secret Tree. I think there were two pints, I remember we shared it equally and downed it in one…"

"Half a pint of whisky at the age of fifty eight?" Glóin's eyebrows moved halfway up his forehead. "No wonder you didn't remember a thing, lad."

Kíli chuckled, and Bilbo took over the narrative.

"Meanwhile my insufferable cousins had popped in for a visit - Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins with their awful son Lotho. They always hated Kíli-"

"I cheated them out of 'their' inheritance." Kíli grinned smugly.

"Anyway, the four little rascals stumbled through the door, hiccupping and giggling something awful. The next thing I knew I was faced with an armful of young dwarf declaring that he loved me so much he would climb a mountain for me but that he hated it when I made him eat his vegetables. Then he wailed at me that he never wanted to eat spinach again, before turning to the Sackville-Bagginses and giving them the foulest scowl I'd ever seen on a child's face. Lobelia made a rude comment about how ridiculous and unsavoury Kíli was, and Kíli got right in her face and said the following-"

"I hate you, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. More than all the spinach in the world I hate you, and I don't want you to visit anymore. You're cruel mean and smelly and prideful and prejudiced and you make me what to be sick all over your stinky feet!" Kíli recited the words he had heard time and time again from Bilbo, his three best friends and everyone they told (which roughly translated to half the Shire) in a high pitched mockery of his childhood voice.

"He then proceeded to throw up all over her 'stinky feet', before falling back onto his backside and crying like a baby." Bilbo finished with a chuckle, and several other dwarves laughed.

Pleasant chatter overtook the company for a short while, before they were coldly interrupted.

"Look!" Ori whispered fearfully, and the entire company followed his gaze. The shore had been growing increasingly desolate throughout their journey, but the first signs of life were far from encouraging.

A lone warg stalked the eastern shoreline, and though it paid little attention to the company Bilbo felt his stomach drop when he saw what it carried in its mouth.

Don't be silly, he chided himself, you eat lamb all the time, what's the difference between you eating such a defenceless creature and an animal doing the same thing?

Perhaps it was not the fact that the bloodied animal hanging from the warg's jaws was a babe that disturbed Bilbo. Perhaps it was the poor thing's weak struggles that continued even with the warg's fangs embedded in its flesh. Or perhaps Bilbo held more stock in foolish superstition than he believed.

"It looks riderless," Thorin declared slowly, turning to Dori who was steering. "Steer us to the Western side of the bank and stay quiet. We should be fine."

Dori nodded and obeyed while Bilbo swallowed.

Bofur nudged him gently. "Are you alright, Bilbo?"

Bilbo blinked, tearing his eyes away from the bloody sight. "I…I think so."

"What was in its mouth?" Kíli asked quietly, though the look in his eye told Bilbo he had already guessed.

"A lamb." Bilbo cleared his throat quietly, glancing over his shoulder. "It was a lamb…"

Kíli paled slightly, staring at the beast before shaking his head and forcing a smile across his face. "Oh.. but that means nothing, right Bilbo? You talked me out of such superstitious nonsense years ago."

"Of course…" Bilbo could not supress his shudder.

The other dwarves frowned with confusion.

"What's so superstitious about a lamb?" Ori asked innocently, and the Bagginses exchanged glances.

"It's really nothing…" Kíli tried, but Bilbo sighed.

"It's a bad omen, in the Shire. If a wolf or a dog attacks a sheep, that's just bad luck. But if a lamb is killed it's an omen of much worse things to come." Bilbo cleared his throat again. "Of course, being a Shire superstition that usually means bad harvests or the like…It symbolised the start of the Fell Winter as well, but… you know how it is… It's just a silly superstition."

"Why are lambs so special?" Bofur frowned. "You ate lamb in Lake-town."

"Of course I did! Few superstitions actually make sense and this is no exception – it's perfectly acceptable for a butcher to kill a lamb…" Bilbo explained weakly, feeling like a cowardly fool (or at least feeling like he looked like one)

"It's to do with innocence." Kíli murmured darkly. "A lamb is just baby sheep which is about as innocent as you can get…Besides, white is a symbol of innocence for most, I believe? The bloody death of a lamb signifies the murder of innocence and the spilling of innocent blood. Any other time I'd scoff at it but it just seems a little… haunting… given our, um, geographical context…"

It was rather unsurprising that the conversation between the company somewhat lessened in the coming hours. Seeing two of their most cheerful members so shaken at a seemingly insignificant – though admittedly disturbing – sight had obviously worried some of the dwarves, but more important was their proximity to the mountain.

For the first time, Bilbo truly appreciated Smaug's impact on the nature of the area. Few trees grew at all, and those that did were withered and dry. He saw several burnt out stumps and some dry grass, but very little else. No birds fluttered through the sky, no rabbits poked their little faces out of their burrows and no deer approached the stream to drink.

The desolation of Smaug, indeed.

Thorin felt so lost.

He knew exactly where he was going and he knew exactly what path we would take, but still he felt so lost.

This burnt land, this wreckage, this desolation… this was not his homeland. Inside the mountain, who knew was damage there would be. Perhaps their quest was doomed. Perhaps there was no way he would ever destroy the dragon.

And even if they did, there was no way of knowing if Thorin would ever be 'home' again.

What if the mountain was not enough without his parents and grandparents and brother to fill its lonely halls? What if his gold was not enough to satiate his desire and he fell into a spiral of madness, hurting Fíli and Kíli as much as his grandfather hurt him? What if Thorin Oakenshield was doomed to be homeless for the rest of his life?

What if…?

'If' is a funny word… It can cause both great terror and great hope, but often it's safer not to use it in times of despair.

Thorin felt like laughing aloud. So even when I am on a quest you vehemently condoned on the other side of the world, you still find a way to comfort me, sister?

He could imagine her reply now. She would smile at him and laugh gently. Of course I will, you great fool! Mahal knows you cannot look after yourself…

Thorin sighed heavily, and the boat rowed on.

It was the end of the third day before they finally brought the boat to shore, and though Thorin departed the vessel with aching legs and arms he did not complain.

Oh, how he wished to complain! He wanted to throw his pack down like a dwarfling and scream that it was not fair. Failing that, he at least wanted the chance to grumble about his aches and pains to a friend without stealing their faith away.

But no. Thorin was a king, which meant that the strangely satisfying art of whining was not one in which he was able to indulge himself.

"What I wouldn't give for a bed again…" the hobbit murmured to himself as he passed Thorin, who could not help but smile.

"If all goes well, you may well have a bed soon Master Baggins."

Bilbo turned around, looking quite shocked but also rather pleased, faint hope lighting in his tired face. "Well let's hope that all goes well then."

Thorin bowed his head at Bilbo and began to help with making up the camp, his gaze ever torn to the beautiful mountain. Several men had rode ahead with ponies and supplies for the dwarves for the coming days, but even with the sun setting quickly they refused to sleep so close to the mountain.

"Surely that's more dangerous?" Bilbo frowned as he watched their horses disappear into the darkness of the night. "To ride off like that, in the dark?"

Thorin said nothing, but his eyes drew to the mountain. A strong longing filled his gut, churning around deep in his abdomen and that worried him slightly. All his yearning for home had come straight from his heart, and though he knew that all dwarves coveted gold to an extent he was silently terrified that the strange stomach ache was a symptom of the sickness that had befallen his grandfather.

There was so much to fear now. So much to lose…

"Thorin?"

Thorin turned and smiled slightly at his youngest nephew. "Kíli?"

"I um… I just wanted to say…" Kíli shuffled awkwardly, offering Thorin a shy smile. "What I…what I said in the house… I..." Kíli cleared his throat in much the same way the hobbit did when he knew that he was rambling in vain. "I realised today that I've never said it sober, not since before I came to the Shire but it's true and I just….I…" Kíli gave a breathless laugh and shrugged slightly. "I love you, Thorin."

Thorin smiled in surprise, his heart filling with warmth. For a moment he could not talk, so he just put a hand on Kíli's shoulder and waited for his tongue to untie itself. "Thank you, Kíli. I love you, too."

The joyful grin that was as easy to conjure as fire in a forge did not light Kíli's eyes or carve his grin deeper into his face as Thorin spoke, but nevertheless Kíli's smile seemed stronger. No, stronger was not the right word to use either, Thorin mused, as he realised in pure wonder that Kíli was gifting him a smile he saved only for Bilbo, or occasionally Fíli.

It was a smile that lit Kíli's eyes in a softer light, a comforting light, like that of a solitary lantern in a world of darkness. It was a smile that barely showed across Kíli's lips, but it was a smile that told you as clear as day that you had done something to earn the young dwarf's unconditional love and affection. It was a shy smile, a soft smile, a sincere smile…

It was a smile that Thorin had yearned to see directed at him since he first saw Kíli flash it at Bilbo in the Shire.

"I'm glad that you do." Kíli admitted genuinely.

As he kept watch that night, Thorin found himself smoking his pipe for the first time since Beorn's house. In truth it was not his pipe, it was from Lake-town, and a small part of him longed for the pipe that he had carried until it was stolen from him in Mirkwood. Hiding the map and key had been easy enough, but his pipe…

His last gift from Frerin was now in the hands of the elves, and that made his blood boil, but Thorin Oakenshield would never admit to being so attached so sentimentally to an object of such little practical use, so he smoked the Lake-town pipe with no complaint.

It's not the same, a little voice in his head protested and he sighed. No, it was not the same, but he had suffered so much change in his time that he had no need to mourn the loss of a simple wooden pipe. No need at all.

The moon was at its peak in the sky as Thorin's watch continued, and the pipe weed did little to calm his fraying nerves. The following day was Durin's day, and if they did not find the door then…

A part of him cursed their long stay in Lake-town, but it had been needed. It had given the company a burst of hope that was quickly being lost in the desolate landscape, and he shuddered internally to think of the severity of the low spirits that would have plagued them had they not had the rest.

A sudden gasp drew his attention and his hand to his sword and Thorin leant forward, preparing to get up and slaughter anything that had dared to attack his sleeping companions. Orcrist's blade was not glowing, however, and after a moment he realised that it was only Kíli. Quashing the urge to call out to his nephew, Thorin listened intently as Kíli slowly calmed his breathing. The night seemed to grow even colder and as Thorin watched Kíli's almost unnoticeable, silent movements in the cold moonlight.

Turning his gaze away from his young nephew, Thorin stared towards the moon and stars. All of a sudden a low humming met his ears, and he looked at Kíli with a slight frown. The tune was so quiet that it would never have woken any of the others, except perhaps Fíli or Bilbo. Kíli's brother and father were both exhausted however, and apparently they were not to be awakened by the soft melody of their young family member.

The tune sounded childish and repetitive, but in the comforting manner of a lullaby it brought feelings of nostalgia and peace as opposed to annoyance at a repetitive structure.

As Kíli's hum began to tremble, Thorin spoke quietly. "I have never heard that tune before."

Kíli's sharp intake of breath told the dwarf king that his speech had been unexpected, but he speed and relative calm of his reply told Thorin that Kíli had been aware that someone must be on watch.

"Forgive me, Thorin, I-"

"No, Kíli there is nothing to forgive. I am merely curious." Thorin assured his nephew quietly.

"Oh…" Kíli paused. "You would not have heard the tune before, Bilbo composed it…it was my lullaby, for a time."

"Oh?" Thorin felt his curiosity peak and he asked quietly. "Are there words?"

Kíli's smile was audible in his voice, as quiet as that was. "There are, but I do not think you would appreciate them."

"Why not?" Thorin frowned, a little offended, and Kíli let out a tiny chuckle.

"It's a story about a friendly dragon."

Oh. That made no sense at all. "A friendly dragon?"

"I was still very young when Bilbo wrote it... I had an awful nightmare about an enormous dragon sweeping down and crashing into the Shire, burning everything in its path… It was horrible, and it was one of the few I actually remembered. Anyway, Bilbo wrote me a lullaby about a friendly dragon and I never dreamt of evil ones again."

Thorin paused, before finally asking. "Would you tell me the words?"

"Now?" Kíli asked, his astonishment evident in his voice.

"Yes…" Thorin stared up at the barely visible mountain. There he was, a dwarf king about to enter a lost kingdom inhabited by a dragon to reclaim his homeland from said dragon and he was asking his sister-son to sing him a lullaby. "Only if you wish to, of course."

Kíli swallowed. "I'll wake everyone."

"Not if you come over here and keep your voice at this volume. If you do not want to, I understand entirely."

"No, I do!" Kíli murmured quickly, getting up and scrambling over with less noise than a mouse. It was unnerving, really. "I've just never sung a lullaby to anyone before, no one over the age of five, anyway."

Thorin felt a grin tug at his lips. "Then I am honoured."

Taking a deep breath, Kíli slowly began to sing in a voice so quiet Thorin knew not even Fíli's sharp ears would declare it cause to wake.

"Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea

And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee

Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff

And brought him strings and sealing wax, and other fancy stuff, oh,

Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea

And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee

Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sails

Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff's gigantic tail

Noble kings and princes would bow whene'er they came

Pirate ships would lower their flags when Puff roared out his name, oh

Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea

And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee

A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys

Painted strings and giant's wings make way for other toys

One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more

And Puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain

Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane

Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave

So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave, oh

Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea

And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee."

Thorin took his pipe away from his mouth as Kíli's soft singing faded away and sighed.

"Kíli?"

"Yes?"

"You've made me feel sympathy for a dragon…"

"A magic dragon!" Kíli snickered quietly. "Not a real one."

"Not a real one, no." Thorin agreed with slight humour. "I hope you realise that Smaug is nothing like this 'Puff' of yours."

"Of course I do." Kíli's voice suddenly hardened. "That's why I was humming it. It seemed an apt thing to hum when scared about imminent death from a dragon."

Ignoring the screaming of his usual (or emotionally constipated, as Dís so elegantly liked to refer to it) behaviour, Thorin followed his instinct and put his arm around Kíli, pulling him close. His heart swelled when Kíli leant into his embrace as easily as he had when he was a dwarfling.

It hurt Thorin to acknowledge that he would never have cuddled Fíli in such a way, especially no tin so public a place, but the knowledge that Kíli never remembered being held by his uncle in times of relative peace stabbed at Thorin's soul. At least now if fell to the dragon he would have cuddled Kíli at least once in the boy's memory.

"I cannot promise that the dragon will not kill you, but I swear I will do all in my power to keep you safe." He whispered.

"I promise you the same." Kíli murmured back seriously.

You will not put yourself in danger for me! Thorin's heart snapped. You're a child, and you will stay where you are safe!

"Promise me only that you will be careful." He said instead.

"I promise." Kíli obeyed surprisingly easily.

Silence fell between the pair, but it was a friendly, comforting silence, and Thorin relished it. Without thinking about it, he began to hum the dwarven lullaby he would use to lull Kíli to sleep after bad dreams a lifetime ago, and he was so caught up in his own worries that he barely noticed himself merging Puff the Magic Dragon into the tune every so often.

Kíli noticed, though, and when the dwarf king woke in the morning to find his sister-son fast asleep in his lap, Kíli Baggins was still smiling.

So, Puff the Magic Dragon was written not by Bilbo Baggins but by Leonard Lipton and Peter Yarrow and all the rights go to them and Yarrow's group Peter, Paul and Mary, the people who turned his poem into a song in 1963.

I was going to write Bilbo his own lullaby for Kíli, but poetry is not my strong point and this seemed to fit so well – loss of innocence, dragons (and the difference in hobbits' fairy tale dragons and dwarves 'real' ones) and the lullaby feature, as well as the fact that it was one of my favourite songs as a kid so meh. Oh and anyone who says it links to drugs – I say no anyway but that's DEFINITELY NOT what it means here :P

I hope you don't mind too much.

If you did, I hope you liked the chapter nevertheless, this is the last bit of bittersweet fluff there's likely to be for a while as we may even get to Smaug next chapter… We shall have to wait and see :P

Oh, and Kíli and Dwalin will talk, possibly next chapter possibly later :) it depends on how it goes!