I'm sorry, but if Gandalf can tell Frodo it is ten o'clock in the morning, I will assume that this means there is a type of clock in Middle Earth. A grandfather clock. You know, one of those old-fashioned mechanical clocks. Perhaps I'm wrong, maybe they use sundials, but that's my assumption and I'm sticking to it for the foreseeable.


"Uncle! Uncle Dwalin!"

One good thing, Dwalin thought to himself, about children was undoubtedly the fact they could and quite happily would rouse the sleeping grown-ups. He'd never been late to train the young lads and lasses before, and now it seemed he never would! Rolling onto his back, he grunted as his adopted nephew jumped on top of him, pulling unmercifully at his sleeping tunic.

"Wake up, Uncle!"

"I am awake, lad." Dwalin answered groggily, rubbing at his eyes. "Where's Balin to?"

"Papa's buying eggs. Wake up quickly, or he won't let you have any!"

"I've had his eggs. I'm better off without them." Dwalin mumbled, catching Bilbo in one of his giant hands ere his nephew attempted an attack. "Enough with the jumping, laddie, I'm getting up now."

Seemingly pleased with the new developments, Bilbo allowed himself to slip out of Dwalin's hold and clambered to the edge of the bed before jumping and then running out the room as fast as his tiny legs would take him, only stopping to push the door to close.

Their lad, it seemed, took more after his father than he did his mother. His hair hinted at the colour of the locks Belladonna had, yet it was more coppery than golden. And his eyes were more emerald-green than the bright turquoise of his mother.
It was amazing, just amazing, how fast the past seven years had gone by. No longer a helpless babe who could barely sit up by himself, he was now an independent, considerably headstrong young child, like any other Dwarfling his age.

Well, mostly. He didn't have the strength most Dwarf children had, and he didn't seem to be growing the hair along his forearms as other children did. Still, he was healthy enough according to Oin, and he was a good lad. Sometimes.

Reaching for his brush and raking it through his beard, Dwalin tried to remember who he would be teaching today. There was young Coelan, son of Cylan. He was tall for one so young, even at only 57 years of age, he was reaching 2 feet in height. He looked much, much older than he truly was, his serious grey eyes and strength making him look more like an adult, than the child he still was. When he came of age, Dwalin had no doubt he would be a true terror on the battlefield.

Swapping his nightclothes for his work tunic, he found trousers and roughly pulled them on before placing his feet inside his boots. Heading to the door, he pushed it open and made his way towards the living area.

"When will Papa be back?" Bilbo asked.

"When did he leave?"

"The big hand was on 3." Bilbo answered, holding up as many fingers.

Crouching down to look closer at his nephew, Dwalin nodded eagerly. "And where was the little one?"

"Seven."

"Well, then, he's been gone for around fifteen minutes. So, he'll be back soon."

"Who am I going to be with today?"

"Balin's going to be meeting with the Mirkwood lot today, and-"

"Elves?!"

"Unfortunately."

For some reason, unknown to all, Bilbo seemed to adore the Elves. Certainly, in the past, he'd been in awe of the tall, willowy creatures as they walked through Erebor's halls and even now, he thought they were simply brilliant. The Elves for their part, had seemed curious about the child at first, wondering where he'd come from, even wondering what he was, though never in earshot of said child. Now, they seemed used to him, though he always was amazed by them.

"Can I see them? Can I, Uncle?"

"They won't be here for long. Several days or so, I hear."

"Will they come back?"

"They're like bad pennies," Dwalin muttered. "Aye, they'll come back."

The news of the Elves' potential return cheered the little one, and he recalled his earlier question, and looked at his uncle. "Will you have me today?"

"I'm training a lad up today. You want to come along?"

"No, thanks. It's a bit boring."

Dwalin chuckled and scooped Bilbo into his arms. "You'll be training yourself, one day!"


Bilbo did love Frerin, but his (what was it? Third? Fourth? He could never remember) cousin was positively insane. He brought them on walks through the mines, he placed his nephews and little cousin on his back and went sprinting through the palace pretending to be a dragon, he made them hide behind doors and jump out at people unfortunate enough to be coming into the room (usually his unsuspecting older brother) and on one memorable occasion, he 'kidnapped' them and took them to the highest of Erebor's balconies and tried to teach them constellations before giving up on his efforts at education and simply telling them stories of the skies.

Frerin was still one of his most favourite people, despite the many dangers he put them in. He didn't mean to endanger them, he simply wanted to have fun with his younger kin before they got too old.

Now, he looked down at him, grinning almost wolfishly. Bilbo knew this smile and wondered what Frerin had in store for them today. Bilbo looked over at Fili, one of Frerin's nephews. He was also Bilbo's cousin. They were only distant cousins, but they were anything but distant with each other. Fili had blue eyes just like Frerin, but he had flowing golden hair whereas Frerin had dark tresses spilling over his shoulders.
Kili, his other cousin, was Fili's younger brother and he had dark hair as Frerin did, but instead of blue eyes, his eyes were very brown and dark.

Frerin, Fili and Kili were both older than he was, and all were fairly protective of him, but they didn't smother him as most of his older cousins, or his papa and uncle seemed to enjoy doing.

"Seeing," Frerin began, "as the tree- err, huggers have taken residency in Erebor, I have been forced to promise no pranks on anyone."

Fili and Kili looked crushed at this news. Bilbo looked up at Frerin, wondering more than ever what the adult had planned for them.

"I know, beardlings, I wanted to play a trick or two as well. Still, I am always prepared for anything as you all know."

"What are we doing, Uncle?"

"Visiting the royal safe."

The younger princes looked doubtfully at each other. "Grandpa said we're not allowed to."

"No, he said you're not allowed to by yourselves."

"Is a grownup going to come with us?" Kili asked.

"Yes, me!"

Jumping on the 'let's-tease-Frerin-mercilessly-about-his-maturity' bandwagon, Fili added, "You're an adult?"

Frerin furrowed his eyebrows in mock-anger. "Forget it, then. Have fun being bored."

"We weren't being serious." Fili said, keeping his expression as solemn as he could.

Frerin reached to tuck a strand of hair behind Fili's ear. "I know, you fool. Come on, I'll take you to your future."


By 'future' Frerin had meant what would be in their future. The royal treasury contained treasures that had belonged to the past kings and queens of Erebor. From ancient, yet well-kept armour to brand-new, shining rare creations of beauty, it contained all matter of things.

"The runes are for the names," Frerin explained, pointing towards golden plaques with etchings scratched into them. They were hammered into the grey stone wall, hanging above the small cavern beneath which held the treasures. "See, that one belongs to Grandpa, and that to Thorin. There's the one that belongs to your amad.."

"Why is this treasure ours?"

"Well, not really ours, they are all gifts from our past king's or queen's family members and Ones. What you see there are memories of happiness and love from their lives."

"Mama still wears what Papa gave her," Kili said. "She wears the opal ring and the bead."

"Yes, little lad, but she prefers to keep a few big reminders with her rather than keep many small ones."

"Uncle, have you found your One yet?"

Frerin shook his head. "No, but I shall."

"How do you know who your One is?"

"You dream of them." Frerin answered simply. "You dream of their hair, eyes, maybe something only they have and when you dream that dream, you feel euphoric and peaceful. Upon wakening, you usually have this desire to go out and inform that person. Only when you tell them will the desire end." His eyes were slightly dreamy as he talked about this, before suddenly turning serious. "Of course, they may not feel that love for you. And that is when you must be very, very careful."

Fili looked at his younger uncle's items. There may have been no One in Frerin's life, but he certainly had lots of things there. "How important is a One?"

"Pretty important once you've had the Dream," Frerin answered. "However, one type of love is no more nor less important than the other. Look at your uncle and I. We're no closer to having our Dream, but the fact we have the love of our kin and friends is more than good enough for us."

"Do you want a One?" Bilbo asked.

"I'm happy for now." Frerin smiled. "However, I have not been idle this past century, despite what Thorin might have to say about it. I've got everything ready."

"Unlike you to be prepared." Fili grinned.

"Terrible insolence. I don't know where you get it from."


Having decided there was no possible way any meeting could last more than the 2 hours spent telling the three little ones under his care about the stories of the past monarchs, Frerin led them out of the room and headed up to the meeting room, only to find his father hadn't in fact gotten his meeting over and done with.

Frowning at the door, he muttered crossly, "I miss the days I could scream 'Da' at the top of my lungs and didn't get in trouble for it."

Kili giggled. "Uncle, you didn't!"

"I certainly did, young Kili, and it's a shame I couldn't get away with it now. Let's see if your mother's back from her stint at the mines."

Bilbo loved seeing Fili and Kili's mother. She was tough, but she was also kind and loving, with a warm heart and open arms. When he'd been younger, he used to think that she was his mother, mainly because she was the only woman he saw regularly. However, when he asked her if she was, she looked suddenly saddened and shook her head, telling him that no, she wasn't his amad. When questioned further on the subject of his mother, she simply told him he would know when he was older.

He never asked her about his mother again. Just the sudden haunted look in her usually bright, cheerful blue eyes kept coming to mind every time he wanted to ask her. If he asked other people, the response was the same, which put him off asking. Maybe one day, he would ask again. But for now, he would hold back.


Aww, you guys are not happy with me, are you? I'm sorry, I didn't want to kill Belladonna, it was an important plot point! If I could have kept her alive, I would. But there was no way around it, I'm sorry. If this was good, please don't hesitate to inform. If it was ungood, again, please don't hesitate to inform. I want to know what you think :)

Love from Shania. xx

P.S. Succumbing to death is not a form of weakness. It isn't. so please don't say she was weak or selfish to die.