"Chapter 2"

A/N: I would like to thank all of the authors for their reviews: you guys are awesome! Just a small side-note here: this chapter there will be a couple more AU things happening that'll alter some things for the events in this specific chapter.

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"Mr. Bilbo, sir?"

The unfamiliar voice made Thorin start awake from where he sat. His hand automatically reached for Orcist before he realized that he was not sleeping in the Wild or even in his quarters at Erebor; instead he found himself at the Hall of Fire in Rivendell, quite without his sword. His disoriented senses confused him for a moment before he remembered the night before—he and Bilbo had come here and spoken long with each other, and he must have dozed off eventually right where he was sitting.

'Stupid!' he growled to himself.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he realized that a fourth hobbit was standing beside Bilbo's chair. He was a smaller, more robust fellow than the other halflings, Thorin noticed, with a wider girth and stouter limbs. There were the same tell-tale signs of exhaustion on this stranger that Bilbo shared, and something more as well: signs of a loss of weight in a short amount of time, a haggardness to his bearing and deep shadows marring the skin beneath his brown eyes. Had he, too, kept vigil over Bilbo's ill nephew? When seeing Thorin's abrupt movements, the hobbit jumped back a pace, but he didn't seem frightened; just wary. Thorin nearly chuckled but stopped himself from doing so knowing that the stranger would probably take offense to that. And if the little fellow didn't then Bilbo would.

The latter shook himself in the seat opposite Thorin, also having fallen asleep sometime during their talk, and smiled at the newest arrival. "Hello, Sam!"

The younger hobbit glanced warily at Thorin for a moment before turning back to his elder, and the Dwarf quite got the idea that he was mistrusted by the stranger. Sam—was that what Bilbo had called him?—had seen him reach for his weapon. He was probably going to be watched carefully from now on.

"Mr. Bilbo, sir," Sam said again, "you should come right quick. Mr. Frodo's just woken up!" He was undoubtedly excited, and it showed by the wide smile that spread across his face while he spoke. "It'll do him plenty o' good to know you're here, Mr. Bilbo, and that's a fact."

Bilbo nearly leaped out of his chair in his eagerness. "Praise the Valar!" he cried, seeming quite young again. Thorin watched him, taken aback, as Bilbo hobbled with a speed belying his age away through the Hall to the healing rooms. He slid from his own seat and followed. Sam walked between them, in front of Thorin, and respectfully behind the elder hobbit. A servant, then. Passing through the hallways he didn't see any of his company, but that was not worrying—after such a journey they would all likely sleep in.

Approaching the room where Bilbo's nephew was, Thorin thought he heard the deep rumble of a familiar voice, but nearly shook his head. There was no possible way…

Stopping at the door, he saw first, with a shock, a familiar grey-clad figure seated beside the bed, as tall as a Man, but certainly no Man. He looked no older than he had almost eighty years before, except for his beard having perhaps grown a few more inches.

Gandalf.

"Gandalf!" Bilbo echoed his thought delightedly. "Watching over my wayward nephew, then, eh?" Thorin saw the wizard's mouth open to reply but was interrupted by a high, clear voice calling out,

"Bilbo!"

The elder hobbit's figure quickly left Thorin's line of vision, but he heard him scolding lightly, "Now listen here, Frodo-my-lad, I'll have none of your attempts to get out of bed until Lord Elrond gives the say-so. Lay back down in those pillows before I have Sam sit on you."

"Mr. Bilbo-!" came the servant's voice, sounding rather strangled, but Bilbo merely laughed.

"Sometimes that is all you can do to keep this inquisitive lad in bed, Sam."

"Bilbo!" came his nephew's voice, sounding almost exasperated; but the tone was one of fondness. "When did you get here? Why didn't you write me? How long have you been here? Why—"

"A hobbit can barely answer your questions if you're busy talking, Frodo," Bilbo interrupted swiftly, a clear smile in his own tone. "I have been here for several years since leaving the Shire, and I never wrote you because then you would never have settled down in Bag End properly. But you are here now and now we'll have plenty of time to catch up. I am so glad you've finally come, even if circumstances were not the way they should have been. How are you feeling now, my lad?"

There was a pause, then: "Better, Uncle. Gandlaf was just telling me what had happened during the days I couldn't remember. Had it really been seventeen days that I was ill? It felt so much longer than that."

"Yes, my lad. But Lord Elrond has healed you well, so you'll be back to your old self in no time, I'm sure."

"Speaking of Lord Elrond," came Gandalf's voice, and Thorin saw the wizard stand from his seat, "I ill go inform him that you are now awake. He was planning a feast for the day you would wake; and he will want to inspect your shoulder once more. He will be pleased to know you're well."

Thorin almost snorted again. After getting stabbed by a Morgul knife, he didn't think that there ever would be a time where the hobbit would be truly well.

"A feast? For what?" came Frodo's surprised question.

"To celebrate that you're doing better, but Lord Elrond has guests that have arrived, and he wants to give them a proper greeting. I'm sure Gandalf has informed you that there will be a council held here in a couple days' time?"

"Yes, Uncle. Will you be going tonight?'

There was a long moment of silence, then Bilbo began quietly, "I don't go in for such things much now, my lad.* Too loud and busy for an old hobbit like myself, you know."

Thorin didn't hear an answer and curious to know why he stepped farther into the room, still mostly hidden by a bend in the doorway; but he was able to see the bed and Bilbo now, although of the servant he could see no sign. Stepping heavily as a Dwarf does, however, he caught their attention, and a pair of curly heads turned to him at the same moment. Bilbo smiled. "Thorin! I forgot to ask you to come along, and I do apologize. The excitement and all that, you know. Come in, come in! I want you to meet my nephew properly."

Caught, Thorin could only do as Bilbo asked, growling to himself the entire way. What had he been doing spying like that? He was the king of Dale, not some sort of lowlife creeping at the doors. He should have entered with Bilbo or left from the very beginning.

"Thorin Oakenshield?" came Bilbo's nephew's disbelieving voice. He turned to the younger hobbit.

Awake, Frodo Baggins did look very much like Bilbo, but more ethereal; his hair was a darker brown than Bilbo's had been, his nose straighter and thinner, with fine arching eyebrows and the bluest eyes Thorin had ever seen. He didn't look as much as a hobbit than as an Elf, Thorin thought, and couldn't help the slight disgust at the thought. The stupid Elves, all stately and poised…

"The very same," Bilbo responded, smiling fondly at his nephew. Frodo's gaze passed Thorin to his uncle, and there was an unspoken inquiry there that showed that he knew Bilbo's story—all of the story, especially how it ended. He turned back to Thorin after Bilbo nodded, almost in reassurance.

"Are you still king of Erebor?"

Of all the questions Thorin had expected, that certainly was not one of them. He almost choked on his surprise and indignation before seeing Bilbo start to laugh, the rest of the remaining tension in his shoulders and face draining away at hearing his nephew's inquiry. Thorin suffered the question if only because it had amused Bilbo so much, but still had a hard time not scowling at the lad. Frodo did not seem the least bit fazed by his glare, only looked at him expectantly. When the seconds stretched on, Bilbo decided to take pity on the Dwarf.

"Frodo, if you had paid attention to my stories you would already know the answer to that."

"Yes, but it's been seventeen years since I heard you tell the last one," Frodo replied, looking at his uncle, "so anything could have happened during that time, couldn't it?"

Bilbo chuckled, looking over at Thorin. "You'll have to forgive my lad, Thorin," he said, knowing the direction of the Dwarf's thoughts. "Frodo has always been inquisitive, asking questions that seem—odd, at times, but good questions all the same." He looked at his nephew critically. "You still look tired, lad," he said. "If you are going to the feast tonight you should sleep until Lord Elrond tells you you can get up."

"But Bilbo," Frodo objected, "I don't want to go if you're not going. I'd rather stay and talk with you."

"You'll have plenty of time to catch up with me after tonight, Frodo," Bilbo answered, his tone firming ever-so-slightly. "Lord Elrond is paying you an honor. You cannot say you aren't going—how would that reflect on us as hobbits? And as you yourself?"

"Uncle," Frodo sighed, but even as he tried to object it seemed to melt away, and Thorin wondered if that was how discussions between them usually went: he had the impression that Frodo was a lot more stubborn than he looked now.

"No, Frodo," Bilbo said, his tone soft again. "You would be doing your hosts a dishonor."

"If your nephew wants company during the feast," Thorin spoke now, surprising himself by even opening his mouth, "I would be honored to be so."

Both Bilbo and Frodo turned to him, Bilbo pleased, Frodo surprised. "But—what about your companions?" the latter asked confusedly, frowning. "Won't they want to sit with their king?"

"There is no reason why seating arrangements can't be changed," Thorin replied smoothly. "Besides, all of them will want the honor of meeting our Burglar Baggins' nephew. They were all rather fond of Bilbo himself, you see."

And as the two hobbits agreed to his idea, Thorin had to wonder what he'd just gotten himself into.

A/N: Next chapter will have mentionings of the feast, Thorin will meet Merry and Pippin (I feel for him now D) and then the Council.