AN: ...please don't kill me...

OOOOO

The months passed surprisingly quickly for Bilbo. Most morning he would be brought to the throne room for a suspect questioning, but it was never Smaug. He'd seen seventy men so far, and none of them were the Dragon. And none of them had seen the Dragon. As the days went, Bilbo considered more on his dream, and Smaug being able to change form. Maybe he was right in front of their noses and they didn't see it because he was no longer in the form Bilbo recalled him being in. But he never made mention of it.

Mostly he was afraid of upsetting them with his suspicions. There were many men in Dale, seventy of them thus far who matched the description of dark hair and light eyes. If the scope expanded to every Man in Dale...Thorin would not be pleased. Neither would Nori. So Bilbo stayed quiet and went to the questionings and kept hoping that eventually Thorin would give up and admit that Smaug was beyond his reach.

After his daily trips to the throne room, Dwalin would take Bilbo where ever he asked after the questioning. Usually he went to the library, but sometimes he would go to his balcony garden. Either way, he always found a peaceful place waiting for him. And sometimes entertainment, if he went to the library. Watching Ori and Dwalin fawn over each other was at times icky, but mostly adorable.

But as good as it was, living in Erebor, Bilbo still missed his mother terribly. At times it was worse than other moments. Usually when he was around the Company, especially Fili and Kili and Ori, he could laugh and smile and forget for a few minutes that she was alone in the Shire, waiting for him to come home. She would be so surprised when Dori and his guards showed up at her doorstep. It would be soon now, they had been gone almost three months. And they took horses, which would make the journey quicker.

Bilbo asked Balin every day for news of the small company headed to his mother, but he hardly ever got new information. Dori wrote every two weeks or so, just to assure them that they were still alive and on track, and that gave Bilbo a rough estimate of their position and how quickly they were moving. The last letter had come from Rivendell, almost two weeks ago. If Bilbo remembered correctly, on horseback it took two and a half weeks to reach the Shire from Rivendell. But he wouldn't feel comfortable until he received word that they reached the Shire, and his mother, safe and sound and that they were looking after her.

During the months he spent in Erebor, Bilbo and Thorin only really bonded once, in the Hobbit's garden that day in the middle of the Winter Festival. After that, they fell into the same pattern as before. Thorin continued to put his foot in his mouth on several occasions, providing a great deal of amusement for Dis and Dwalin. And Bilbo continued to be distant, distracted. Haunted by the past and eager to see his mother again. He was so focused on the past, the present, and the future, that he gave Thorin very few opportunities to even try to lessen the gap between them.

As if that didn't annoy the Dwarf King enough, Bilbo and Bofur had become alarmingly good friends. When Bilbo was not between Fili and Kili, or Dwalin and Dis, then he was perched somewhere near Bofur. The hatted Dwarf could draw the most beautiful smiles and heart lifting laughs from the Hobbit. And Thorin hated it. He wasn't jealous! But he was infuriatingly frustrated that Bofur could so easily amuse Bilbo while Thorin himself could do nothing but make the Hobbit uncomfortable or awkward- on a good day!

Despite the distance between them, Thorin found himself becoming more and more fond of the Hobbit in his Kingdom. And he had heard the names that Bilbo had started adopting. The Hobbit of Erebor. The Thirteenth Member of the King's Company. The King's Burglar. In all honesty, he liked the names more than he would ever admit. And Bilbo didn't seem overly upset by them. In fact Bilbo seemed more than...content with his current life.

The only time Bilbo showed his true discontent, not only with his situation, but with his life, was when he thought he was alone. Sometimes Thorin snuck away from court, to the library, just so he could see it. Bilbo hid himself away in a different reading nook every day, always hiding behind some impossibly large book. But Thorin noticed that more and more often, he wasn't even reading the books he sat and stared at. Instead, his eyes were far away and his lips turned down at the ends in such a subtle frown that most wouldn't see. But Thorin was not proud to admit that he had memorized Bilbo's face, and every expression it could hold, to perfection.

Thorin could only imagine what Bilbo was thinking in those moments. Was it only his mother, and the possibility of seeing Smaug again that haunted Bilbo? Thorin suspected that what he knew was just the very fringe of the raging tempest raging inside of his...the Hobbit. He was always reminded of the story of Bilbo's father, and the Man in Bree who tried to rape him. Thorin was sure Bilbo had been attacked a fair share in his life. Who knew how many had tried to hurt him, and how many had succeeded.

Thorin doubted he would ever know the extend of the horrors Bilbo had witnessed in just a few short years. There must have been many, for there was always such profound sadness in Bilbo Baggins. A sadness that went far beyond any he'd know, even after everything that had happened to his family and his people. No, the sadness in Bilbo Baggins was far worse and he hid it exceptionally well. In fact, no one else seemed to notice it. Well, except Dis. She noticed everything.

Sometimes Thorin would sit and discuss the situation regarding the Hobbit with Dis. He wasn't even shocked when she pointed out that they spent more time talking about Bilbo than they did spent talking about anything else. Bilbo was often their only topic of discussion in those days. Dis didn't seem bothered by it, in fact she seemed excited. Like she knew something that Thorin didn't. It was how most of his company acted around him actually. Some days it was endearing. Some days, it really wasn't.

Despite the imperfections of their routine, though maybe it was just Thorin who found it imperfect, it was still nice. The Dwarf King was more than happy to go on, with things staying the way they were. But then Balin walked into his study, a letter in hand, and a face more solemn than should ever be allowed. The last time he had seen such a face on his Adviser, the Battle of Azanulbizar had just claimed Thror, Thrain, Frerin, and thousands of others. It was with this in mind that Thorin stood and helped Balin to a chair, taking the letter from the elder Dwarf. Only to fall into a chair himself once he read what it contained.

Of all the things he had been expecting to read, this was not it. This was actually worse than many of the things he'd been thinking.

"How am I going to...I don't know if I can...?" Thorin breathed, staring blankly at the fireplace.

"I can do it...if you wish." Balin said, but he did not sound excited. Thorin hesitated for a long moment before steeling his resolve and shaking his head.

"No. I'll do it. But it won't be easy." They shared grimaces before Thorin stood regretfully. Balin said nothing as the king walked away, the letter still clutched firmly in his hand. Each step he took made the weight in his stomach get heavier. But eventually he reached his chambers, and the antechamber door. He sighed before knocking. When no answer came, he opened the door slowly, smiling slightly at the sight of Bilbo sprawled out in bed, taking an afternoon nap. The Hobbit got more adorable every day. But the smile faded when Thorin remembered why he was there.

Thorin took another deep breath to attempt to mentally prepare himself before walking solemnly to the side of Bilbo bed and clearing his throat.

"Bilbo." Thorin stated loudly, but Bilbo only turned in his sleep. Thorin sighed and rolled his eyes. "Bilbo." He said louder. The Hobbit huffed a bit but his eyes slowly opened. Thorin almost lost all of the nerves he'd just steeled when he saw those wide blue eyes.

"Thorin." Bilbo murmured, rubbing his eyes gently. "What a pleasure to wake to your cheerful face." He added sarcastically when he took in the look on Thorin's face.

"We received another letter from Dori. They reached the Shire." Thorin admitted, and instantly Bilbo was sitting up, looking eagerly to the crumpled paper in Thorin's clenched fist.

"Did they find mother?" He asked nervously, finally noticing the frown still firmly turning down Thorin's lips.

"They did." Thorin replied, trying valiantly to keep his voice from betraying anything. That scared Bilbo more than anything. Was his mother even sicker than he remembered? Was she unsuitable for travel, even with healing? Would he ever see her again?

"H-How is she? When will they be starting their return journey?" Thorin felt a tug at his heart as he watched and listened to Bilbo. Thorin was so used to seeing Bilbo with no weaknesses, with a shield made of smiles and laughter, that seeing him so open and pleading made him hesitate. How could he tell Bilbo about his mother when there was such hope in those blue eyes? But, he had to tell him. He took one more steadying breath.

"Bilbo your mother is dead." He said quietly, regret in his voice. Bilbo seemed to cease all movement, even breathing. He didn't seem to be able to accept the news, but after a long moment of just staring at Thorin, understanding seeped in and his face crumbled into pure anguish. His eyes filled with tears that he didn't allow to fall in front of the Dwarf King.

"W-What?" His voice broke in just that one word.

"A woman named Primula told Dori that your mother died a month ago. Her health, and the exceptionally cold winter, were her downfall. She passed in her sleep." Thorin relayed the message that Dori had sent them. Bilbo looked an inch from breaking, from bursting out into tears. He...he'd only been gone four months. Her health was never good, but it hadn't been that bad. How did she...how could this happen? How could she be dead?

"Go away." Bilbo choked out after a few long moments. He didn't know what he was going to do now. But the first thing he wanted was to be alone.

"Bilbo-"

"GO AWAY!" He screamed, every bit of his pain leaking into his voice. Thorin didn't want to leave Bilbo alone in that moment, but he could not stay. He couldn't watch Bilbo break. He silently left Bilbo's antechamber, heart wrenching sobs following him to the door. And remaining in his ears all the way to his chambers.

OOOOO

Dis and Thorin sat side by side on the couch in the sitting room. Neither spoke, and they didn't look at each other. All was silent. So silent that they could hear the weeping in the antechamber, as clearly as if Bilbo was in the room with them. He alternated between low, mournful sobs, and high pitched screams of pure emotional agony. Dis wondered if that was how she had sounded when she lost her husband. She wondered if there was ever a more horrible sound in all of Middle Earth than that of Bilbo Baggins crying.

It felt like days since Thorin had come to her, face down turned, to tell her what happened, and how Bilbo reacted. At first, she hadn't been able to say anything. But then they both agreed the best thing they could do was make sure he was undisturbed during his mourning. Though it seemed word had gotten out, because in the hours (which felt like days) that they'd been keeping vigil in the sitting room, no one had come by to create a disturbance, inadvertently or on purpose.

"Should we...bring him food?" Thorin asked, sounding concerned but also cautious. More than anything, he sounded desperately lost. He didn't know what to do in this moment. He knew exactly what to do when Dis was mourning her husband. But now, with Bilbo...he couldn't be more blind. He had no idea what he should do.

"He wouldn't eat it." Dis replied sadly, and Thorin nodded, knowing she was right. "How did we not see this coming? He said she was very sick...why didn't we even consider the possibility..."

"We didn't want to. None of us wanted to think that she might be...dead. Not when she meant so much to Bilbo." Thorin replied, his voice heavy; weighted with burdens that seemed too massive for even him. Dis' voice sounded like that too. Silence stretched between them for minutes, which felt like hours, filled only with the constant cries from the antechamber. "She was all he was living for." Thorin whispered, and Dis cringed.

"But...he has us. He has all of us now. He'll be okay, he just needs to grieve." She said insistently. Thorin could only shrug. It was possible that Bilbo would turn to them for comfort, and support. But it was more probable that he wouldn't. Dis knew that. But like Thorin, she didn't want to think that maybe Bilbo might...give up. Thorin honestly didn't know what he would do if that happened.

The door to the chambers opened and Dwalin walked in solemnly, shutting the door behind him so reverently that it made no sound. Thorin nodded to him, and he stumbled forward to a seat across from the eldest surviving Durin's. For a long while they didn't speak. Dwalin didn't seem to know what to say, but neither did Thorin or Dis it seemed. Finally the bald Dwarf sighed.

"Balin told me about the letter. A few hours ago." Dwalin admitted. "I was a little...terrified...to come see how he was. Has he been...crying the whole time?" Thorin swallowed through his suddenly tight throat and nodded.

"The entire time we've been here to hear him." Dwalin sighed and lowered his head. One big paw of a hand came up and rubbed at his forehead.

"What are we gonna do? The lad's been through so much already...I don't know if he can survive this." Dwalin murmured, finally saying what they were all thinking. Thorin flinched, not wanting to even think of that. Dis shut her eyes tight and cringed for a moment before taking a calming breath and opening her eyes again.

"Bilbo is strong though. He's the strongest boy I've ever met. He can...he will survive. He has to." She whispered the last three words, but they all heard them perfectly. Silence lapsed as all three looked anywhere but each other. The only sound was once again that of Bilbo sobbing in the antechamber.

Thorin wanted nothing more than to run in and wrap Bilbo into a comforting embrace. But he didn't think the Hobbit would be so appreciative. He didn't know what he could do, and that scared him more than anything. What was he to do? What would Bilbo want him to do? Maybe there was something he should do that Bilbo wouldn't want him to do. Would he do it anyways, even knowing Bilbo didn't want him to do it? If it was for the Hobbit's own good, then yes, he would. Even if Bilbo hated him for it. As long as it meant he was safe, and eventually happy. Though Thorin thought it would be a very long time before Bilbo could possibly be happy again.

OOOOO

Bofur glanced behind him at Thorin and Dis before knocking on the antechamber door. Everyone agreed Bofur should be the person to try and talk to Bilbo. It had been a full two days now, and the Hobbit has not left his room. Had not eaten. Had done nothing but cry. As much as Dis and Thorin and Dwalin and, well, the whole Company, wanted to be the one to talk to Bilbo, Bofur was his closest friend in Erebor. Dis was more like his sister and Dwalin like a protective father. Thorin...just no. Bofur was the clear choice.

No reply came from the knock so Bofur glanced at the royal siblings again, asking silently what to do. Thorin gestured for him to try again, and Bofur hesitantly repeated the action of knocking. Again they were met with only silence so, after another look at Thorin and Dis, the hatted Dwarf twisted the knob of the door and slowly pushed it open.

Bilbo was curled up into a tight ball on his bed, his face scrunched up in agony, and tears fell continuously over his pale cheeks. He did not look up at the sound of his door opening, in fact he didn't move at all. If not for the hiccups and sobs, Bofur might think his asleep. Or worse. Bofur closed the door softly behind him, knowing that at least five Dwarves would be eavesdropping anyways, and cautiously made his way over to Bilbo's side.

"Bilbo?" He whispered, hoping not to startle the poor boy. But he was given no indication of even being heard. "Oh Bilbo." Bofur sighed, cautiously taking a seat on the edge of Bilbo's bed. The mattress sank under his weight, and Bilbo rolled a little, but still remained apparently ignorant of his uninvited guest.

Bofur considered what to do or say. They had all agreed he should be the one to talk to the Hobbit, but none of them had mentioned what exactly he should talk about. Bofur had practice with mourning, both his parents had died when he was little. But he had Bifur to look after him then, and Bombur to take care of as well. He had responsibilities and someone to turn to. Belladonna was Bilbo's whole world. His mother and his responsibility all in one. The only person he truly loved. She was gone now, and Bofur couldn't honestly imagine how Bilbo must feel.

Still, he had to try. He had to try to bring Bilbo out of his debilitating mourning. Mourning was healthy. But when it kept you from eating and sleeping and seeking comfort...well then it was more like fading. And that was the worst fate Bofur would imagine, especially for someone like Bilbo. Someone who didn't deserve this, after all he had been through.

"Bilbo." Bofur reached out and put a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. Bilbo jerked away weakly, but settled easily enough when Bofur persisted. "Yeh need ta eat lad. Yeh need ta rest and yeh need ta talk ta us." Bofur figured he should just get to the heart of the problem. Bilbo trembled beneath his hand and a there were a few sniffles, but no answer. Bofur gave him a little shake, just a small one, but still he received no response. "Bilbo I'm serious now lad. We all respect that yeh need ta mourn yer mum, but this is a step beyond mournin'. This is dangerous to yer health and we can't let yeh jeopardize yerself because of this." Bilbo grew tense and Bofur saw his hands curl into fists.

"Just leave. me. alone." Bilbo finally hissed, though Bofur's victory over getting an answer was damped by the words. By the anguish and anger in Bilbo's whispered voice. When Bofur didn't move, Bilbo once again jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, this time successfully. And it was very clear to Bofur that Bilbo would not be talking, or eating, or doing anything. Not for a good long while. Maybe this was the way Hobbits mourned. Maybe they fasted and shut themselves away from people for a week or so. Maybe. But Bofur had a feeling this wasn't about Hobbit traditions. This was about Bilbo and his pain. Pain that none of them could even come close to imagining.

With a defeated sigh, Bofur stood and walked to the door. He looked back at Bilbo before he left, though the Hobbit had not moved or made a sound. Bofur wanted Bilbo to admit to wanting comfort. He wanted Bilbo to say something. But he would not force his company on the upset boy. For one thing, he would not want comfort forced upon himself, if he were in Bilbo's position. And for another, who knew what Bilbo could be capable of if he was forced into action while upset. Surely it would be a bloodbath.

The hatted Dwarf finally gave up after a minute of looking at Bilbo and opened the door, slipping through and closing it as quietly as he could. He was met with twelve Dwarves, all looking sad or disappointed.

"It's no use." Bofur told them, even though he was sure they had all been listening to the few words spoken. He was sure they had read the silence perfectly as well. In the silence they all heard the clear truth. Bilbo was broken, somewhere deep inside, and there was nothing they could really do about it. He was not going to let them help him. If he was to be mended, it would be on his own accord and by his own hand. He did not want their help. And even if he did, he would not ask for it.

OOOOO

Ori looked from the tray of food in his hands to the door of the antechamber and back. He felt the eyes of the company on his back, waiting for him to build the courage to open the door and try to coerce Bilbo into eating. It had been nearly a week now. The best they'd been able to do was get him to drink some water. And really the only way they managed it was when they left a pitcher and a cup next to his bed and left the room. None of them ever actually saw Bilbo move or drink or do anything but sit curled up crying. But when they would return with a fresh pitcher, the old one would be empty.

Ori was hoping if he left the food, Bilbo would eat some of it when they weren't looking. It was their last option besides forcing food down his throat. And when that option was brought up, Thorin practically exploded with curses and refusals and threatened them all with a lifetime in the dungeon if they even tried. No one asked why, or brought the subject up again, though Dwalin at least made the connection to the days when Bilbo himself was in the dungeon. He had never asked Thorin why Bilbo was covered in vomit after their little talk, but now he had an idea.

Finally, after a good long time of second guessing himself and wondering if it would really work, Ori took a big breath to steel his nerves and opened the door. Bilbo was in his usual position. But now he was faced away from the door, and tucked under the covers. Even his head was covered. Ori sighed and toed the door shut behind him. He awkwardly walked to the side of the bed Bilbo was on and put the tray of food down on the bedside table. Bilbo squirmed a little under his blanket but not even a lock of golden hair appeared.

"Bilbo, I've brought you some food." Ori whispered, pulling the blanked back a little. Bilbo's hands were knotted in his hair, his head practically touching his knees, he was curled up so tight. He looked so tiny in that moment. And despite the large shirt and pair of trousers, Ori could just see how thin he was getting. The Scribe couldn't help but remember how Bilbo's chest and arms had been, in the dungeon when he and Bofur went to take measurements. Skin and bones practically. Only a bit of muscle to keep them separated.

Ori gently eased Bilbo's hands out of his hair, and it was surprising to him that Bilbo let him. Then he spent a few minutes trying to tame the mane of curls that had resulted from a week of weeping and never leaving his bed. At one time Ori thought he felt Bilbo grab his coat, but when he looked, Bilbo's hands were gripping his blanket so tight, his knuckles were white.

"Try to eat Bilbo. We're all so worried about you." Ori murmured, petting Bilbo's wild hair for another moment before tucking the blanket back up around Bilbo's neck, covering his thin shoulders and thin...everything. He sent little glances back as he walked to the door, but he wasn't really expecting any kind of answer. The closest any of them had gotten to an answer over the last week was when Bilbo angrily told Bofur to leave him be.

"Do you think he'll eat?" Bombur asked when Ori walked out of the room. They all looked to the scribe eagerly, but he could only shrug. None of them thought Bilbo would drink the water left for him, but Bilbo had surprised them then. Perhaps he would surprise them now.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see." Ori sighed, glancing back at the closed door as if he could see through it. They all did. But none of them could see Bilbo. None of them could see him roll over onto his other side. None of them could see as he uncurled his blanket to reveal a pristine white feather quill, which Bilbo had taken the liberty of removing from Ori's pocket. And none of them could see him stroke the silky feather, the most terrifying twinkle lighting his weary eyes.

OOOOO