Bilbo awoke to silence.

Looking out his window, dawn had only just arrived. That would explain the lack of bird song. Bilbo swore the sparrows that lived in his lemon tree slept in almost as long as he did. Well, he normally did. He was expecting to hear the tumultuous tribe (good, eh?) of dwarves still rummaging around in his living room. Except there was only the silence.

Half expecting to have woken from some strange dream, Bilbo tiptoed out into his hall. It was as clean and clear as it was right after he last washed it. Bracing himself, Bilbo even stuck his head into his much abused bathroom.

Sparkling.

Pinching himself sharply – perhaps last night was some strange hallucination – Bilbo ventured back into the room where he swore to himself that last night held 11 dwarves and a wizard singing a haunting song about a mountain.

He almost swore, literally, when he saw the still snoozing pile of dwarf spread across his living room. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, but that hardly surprised Bilbo. What would surprise him was the wizard needing any sleep at all.

Bilbo was just about to return to his warm bed and another few hours of sleep, when he heard a slight scraping of dishes.

Then a soft murmuring of voices, all coming from his kitchen. Perhaps a couple of the dwarves had woken early and had decided to not leave Bilbo with their piles of plates to wash up after the multitude had (finally) left. He had to admit, cleaning up after that feast was nothing to look forward to.

He did another quick headcount of the sleeping dwarves. Definitely eleven.

So who was in his kitchen?

Bilbo took the long way around, coming in past his pantry. He could sneak under a bench and watch whoever – or whatever – had further invaded his house. Bilbo huffed at the indignity of having to sneak in his own house, when he finally caught sight of the dwarves – because what else could they be? – inside his kitchen.

There were two of them, one fair and one dark, quietly shuffling around his sink and washing all the dishes the others had stacks the night before.

Bilbo's brain finally woke up enough to connect these last two characters to the two shadows standing behind Thorin Oakenshield the previous night. But why would two dwarves, clearly so young, be kept outside?

The blonde dwarf was up to his elbows in soap suds, carefully scrubbing all of Bilbo's mother's dishes. Without looking he passed them to the dark haired dwarf, who dried them with a dish towel and restacked them on the table.

They were clearly at ease working together, Bilbo noticed. He also saw the holes in their long worn clothes, their boots that had clearly seen too many seasons and that thin, pinched look he knew creatures who hadn't eaten enough for weeks, even months, carried with them constantly.

Something wasn't right, and it wasn't just the hobbit in Bilbo incredulous at the idea of not having enough to eat. Because clearly the dwarves sleeping in the next room – inside, warm and well-clothed – had not starved these last few winters.

They had no weapons, these two dwarves.

Bilbo's brain raced to take in all the details, the differences between these dwarves and the others he had temporarily welcomed into his home. It was just how his mind worked. There were surely some differences his brain recognised but was unable to understand. Like the braids perhaps…

He bit back a sharp intake of breath when he heard someone else come into the kitchen. Burglar he may be not, but any young hobbit worth his salt knew how to keep quiet around the kitchen. Especially if you were trying to sneak some extra honey before supper…

"The packs are ready then."

Bilbo heard Thorin make the statement. It was definitely not a question.

"Yes, sir," the blonde dwarf responded softly. He had turned from his work when the leader had entered the room.

"Who asked you to clean up inside?"

This was definitely a question. And Bilbo didn't have to be able to see Thorin to hear the dangerous edge in his voice.

There was a pause, but obviously the two young dwarves knew better than to not answer.

"Balin, sir."

Suddenly Thorin stepped into Bilbo's line of sight. Bilbo froze, but Thorin's eyes never left the other two dwarves. Calmly – controlled – he removed one of his gloves and slapped each boy once on the cheek. Not enough for any of the others to hear, but enough for Bilbo to jerk sharply. The two dwarves made no sounds though, and kept their gazes low.

Thorin moved in even closer.

"You only follow my orders. Mine! You obey me!" he hissed, then turned and stalked back towards the rest of his company.

Bilbo stayed where he was. His mind was planning his return route to his bed – avoiding the possibly awake dwarven mob – as soon as he was sure Thorin was truly gone and the two dwarves in his kitchen had returned to their work. The dark one did move towards his towel, but quickly the other grabbed his wrist. Bilbo watched them both glance towards the living room, towards the other dwarfs, and saw them both take measured, deep breaths.

The blonde one gently pushed his forehead down towards the other, and as they rested together Bilbo felt more and more uncomfortable at witnessing things he shouldn't. Wanting to give them some privacy, but also wanting to be back in bed, he shuffled backwards and towards his own room.