Chapter 7

"Well? How do I look?" Bilbo spread his arms, offering himself to Thorin's piercing gaze.

"Handsome," Thorin said from where he was leaning against the doorway to Bilbo's bedroom, his arms crossed.

"Which is what you said about the other six waistcoats I've tried on," he said, cheeks reddening. "Not that I'm complaining, but I can only wear one tonight."

"I suppose I like the blue one."

Bilbo dropped his arms back to his sides with a sigh and turned back to the mirror. "Blue isn't really the correct color for the season, though." August was in full swing, and the red-orange waistcoat he had on at the moment would be much more suitable.

"What is the significance of the color of your clothing?" Thorin asked, moving to stand behind him and putting both hands on Bilbo's shoulders. Looking in the mirror, Bilbo could see genuine curiosity in the dwarf's eyes, and recognizing that made him realize just how ridiculous he was being.

"There is no significance, not really," he said. "Of course, different colors go with different seasons, but no one will actually take insult to my wearing a blue waistcoat in the summer."

"Then something else is bothering you."

Bilbo took a deep breath, focusing on the weight of Thorin's hands on his shoulders as they rose and fell. Ever since he had received an invitation to Poppy Brownlock's twenty-sixth birthday party, anxiety had simmered in the pit of his stomach.

Following the strange occurrence in Hamfast's garden, and their subsequent confrontation, Bilbo had done his best to keep out of public. He had thrown himself into writing his account of the quest, rereading some of his old books, and spending time with Thorin. Attending the party would be his first public appearance (of sorts—going to the market didn't really count because socializing wasn't required).

"I'm nervous," Bilbo managed. He struggled with his next words, wondering how he could describe all the reasons why he was nervous, or how to put them in a context that would make sense to Thorin. "I...I'm not the same person I was before I left. And everyone else won't know what to make of that."

"Do you?"

Thorin's question caught him off guard, and he found himself staring at his own reflection, turning the question over in his head.

You will not be the same. That was plain enough to see in the calluses on his hands and the scar on his temple and the harder edges on his frame that had not been there before. But when he looked past all of that, the story of Bilbo Baggins had become a tangled mess.

He thought he was a little braver than before, yet he found himself feeling afraid when there was no danger to be found. The comfort of his life in the Shire, to which he had been so eager to return, now made him feel out of place, like a pair of trousers that he had outgrown and were now slightly too small.

There were times when he felt like a stranger in his own skin, and he had absolutely no idea what to make of any of it.

"It is your choice," Thorin said, his voice drawing Bilbo out of his thoughts. "How you define your life now is up to you. And the others will see that."

Bilbo continued to stare at his reflection as though it was a map he did not know how to read. His life, even before he had run away with a group of dwarves, had been one contradiction piled on top of another. At times he envied Thorin and his single-minded drive. His purpose had been laid before him at birth.

"You have time. I know you will find your way eventually." Thorin gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze, followed by a light kiss on the back of his neck. "I think you should wear the blue one."

He left the room, but Bilbo stood there for a while longer, trying to puzzle the whole thing out like one of the riddles he and his father used to trade. As usual, Thorin's wisdom had given him a sense of direction, even if he didn't know exactly how to proceed.

In a way, it reminded him very much of standing in the dark below the goblin tunnels in the Misty Mountains, alone and paralyzed with fear. There had been no use in going back. And despite the web of shadows that lay before him, and his terror at what he might find within, he had pushed himself to delve into the unknown.

Bilbo straightened up and began to dress himself. Hopefully there wouldn't be any riddle-telling cave-crawlers at Poppy's birthday party.

The party could not have been further from the image of a dank cave beneath a treacherous mountain. There was food and ale, lanterns strung from trees, music, and laughter.

In appearance it was the embodiment of a simple celebration in the Shire. Yet Bilbo still felt as though he had been thrown into another battle, though this time instead of orcs he was fending off politely-worded inquiries about the state of his sanity and the hoard of gold that he may or may not have hidden away in Bag End.

There was a certain chaos about it that perfectly resembled the battle—despite the seeming disorganization of it all there was a great need to move with perfect calculation, giving adequate answers to the questions of his relatives while remembering to be polite and follow Baggins rules of conduct while still keeping an eye out for Lobelia because the last thing he needed at the moment was a confrontation with his sharp-tongued cousin.

Bilbo half-wished he had Sting at his hip.

Exhausted, he took a seat at one of the tables off to the side, taking a hearty swig from the mug of ale in his hand. He sat there for a moment, idly listening to Milo Cotton wax poetic about the huge harvest his crops would yield next month.

Thorin had left his side about half an hour ago to listen in on a conversation about a group of dwarves that had passed through Hobbiton during the past week, apparently eager to hear news from either Erebor or the Blue Mountains. Now that Bilbo had a moment to catch his breath, he searched the crowd for him, but could find no sign of the dwarf.

He lifted the mug to his lips once more, letting out a sigh through his nose. He still had to wish Poppy a happy birthday, though at the moment she was surrounded by a group of her friends and he thought he would wait for a better time. After that, he was tempted to leave early—surely no one would miss him.

That would hardly be the polite thing to do, which was why he had accepted the invitation in the first place, but it was one thing to say you would attend a party from the comfort of your own home and quite another to actually go through with it.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Bilbo turned as Thorin took a seat next to him and placed an arm around his shoulders. The gesture was casual enough, but it relieved him of some of his anxiety. "This is almost as exhausting as dealing with a home invasion by dwarves."

The low laugh he received was enough to make him grin. But Bilbo quickly schooled his features into a more neutral expression as he realized it would look to the other hobbits as if he was talking and smiling to himself. And that would hardly help his image of a sane and normal person.

"Believe me, from what you described, the party at your house was quite tame. You have yet to see a real dwarvish celebration."

Bilbo raised his mug again, to hide his mouth as he said, "Is that so?"

"I still remember the first celebration of Ghuregbuzramerag in the Blue Mountains." Thorin went on to describe the feast and the music and the drinking, which had lasted for ten days in all.

Bilbo did his utmost to keep a straight face as he listened, though it became impossible not to crack a smile as Thorin recounted Dwalin's mishap with a couple of barrels of ale that had put him out of commission on the third day of the festival.

"Now I am quite glad that the Company did nothing of that sort when they visited me, or I believe Bag End would have been torn to shreds."

"Indeed. That would have been a poor first impression to make."

"Mister Bilbo?"

He turned at the sound of a new voice and saw Hamfast standing on the other side of the table, his own mug of ale in hand. Red flushed onto his cheeks, and he hoped Hamfast hadn't seen him speaking to what would appear to be thin air. "H-Hello Hamfast. How are you?"

"Doin' all right, Mister Bilbo, doin' all right." He took a seat across from him. "Quite the party, eh?"

"Yes, it's...nice." Bilbo swung his legs over the bench so he could face Hamfast. They hadn't spoken much since the incident with his garden, and he felt rather bad about that. "Have you tried Malva Smallburrow's blackberry tarts yet? She's really outdone herself this time."

"Oh, no. I suppose I'll have to get my hands on one of those eventually. My Bell's brought her stuffed eggs, though, and they're nearly gone. Popular as they were last year," he said with a grin.

The love Hamfast had for his wife was clear to anyone who knew the pair, and Bilbo felt a small smile lift his lips at the thought. Now that he knew himself what being in love was like, he understood perfectly what those little moments meant, how another's pride and joy could easily become his own.

"I see you're in good spirits today," Hamfast said, one brow raising.

"Hmm?" Bilbo blinked. Thorin's hand had moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, and with his thumb nestled in the curls at his nape, it was proving to be quite distracting. "Oh, yes."

"You got your eye on any lasses here?"

The question was so unexpected it took him a moment to process what Hamfast had asked. And then another on top of that as Thorin moved his hand protectively to his lower back. "I...what? No. Not in—I mean, no. You...what?"

Hamfast gave him a restrained-half smile, as if unsure whether or not to believe his denial. "I was only kidding, Mister Bilbo. It's just that you've got a certain look on your face." He shrugged as though the implications of that were a given.

Bilbo was uncomfortably reminded of Hamfast's comment last month about his being alone. But he did not want an awkward moment like that now, so he forced a laugh and made a show of peering into Hamfast's mug. "No, no, I believe you've had a bit too much to drink. I haven't got my eye on anyone here."

Thorin leaned closer, his lips almost brushing Bilbo's ear as he whispered, "Not even one?"

Now he could feel himself blushing all the way to the roots of his hair, which was most certainly not helping his case with Hamfast. He stepped on Thorin's foot under the table. He was going to pay for that later.

Before any more questions about Bilbo's love life could be raised, a young hobbit clambered onto the bench, standing up and looking down at Bilbo with wide eyes. "Mister Baggins!"

"Oh, yes, um…" Bilbo frowned. He was blanking on his name—he knew the hobbit was one of the Took children, but there were a great many and he was having difficulty keeping track. "How can I help you?"

"Is it true you fought trolls on your adventure?" The child was speaking far too loudly given their proximity, and Bilbo had to wonder how many slices of honey cake he'd eaten.

"Uh…" He glanced at Hamfast, who was gazing with raised brows at the child. "Well, I wouldn't say fought exactly, but we did encounter a few."

The child settled down on the bench, legs crossed. "Were they big? Were they made of stone? How did you beat them? Is it true you have an elvish sword?"

"They were quite big. And they only turned to stone after they were hit with rays of sunlight," Bilbo said hesitantly. But the child was listening with rapt attention, so he continued, telling a watered down version of their encounter with the trolls (one that did not mention his getting covered in troll snot).

Bilbo had never really recounted any part of his adventure to any of the other hobbits. The adults would have wanted nothing to do with it, being quite content with knowing as little about the outside world as possible. But he hadn't considered the curiosity of children—especially Took children—and how they might want to know what had happened.

After he had finished the part about the trolls, he was asked about elves, and launched into another description about his experience in Rivendell, which then led into what had happened after. At this point, three more children had congregated around the table and were also listening. The youngest one had climbed into Hamfast's lap, which the gardener had been surprised about at first, but he now had a small, content smile on his face. Bilbo knew he wanted children of his own someday.

"So there we were, clinging to the side of the cliff in the pouring rain, while these stone giants battled it out above our heads. Just as we thought it couldn't get any more treacherous, the ground beneath our feet began to move, and—"

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Bilbo bit back a grimace. He didn't have to turn around to know who that shrill voice belonged to.

"Filling the minds of our children with your nasty stories!" Lobelia marched around him and picked up the nearest child, setting him in the ground. He looked none too happy about that, but scampered off without a word. The rest of the children followed suit with a sweeping glare from Lobelia.

With the table nearly empty again, she rounded on Bilbo.

"You really have the nerve to ruin little Poppy's birthday party with your disruptive behavior and your fanciful tales? Is knocking on everyone's door and disturbing the peace not enough for you? It's been nothing but trouble from you, Mister Baggins, since you've come back. And I think I can speak for more than just myself when I say it would have been better if you'd never come back at all."

Bilbo felt a rush of air from behind him as Thorin stood up, his voice harsh with rage. "Hold your tongue."

Of course, Lobelia did not spare even the slightest of glances at him. She continued to glare expectantly at Bilbo. "Well? Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo could see Hamfast watching the two of them, his face pale. The volume of Lobelia's voice had caused several other hobbits to turn and stare.

Bilbo rose from the bench, his eyes never leaving his cousin's. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, making his skin prickle. "I do believe," he said, his voice quieter than he would have liked, "that you are the only one causing a disturbance here, Lobelia. But if it so deeply upsets you to see me telling stories to children, then I will leave."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, nearly knocking into Thorin as he went.

Ears ringing and posture stiff, Bilbo marched himself along the path back to his house. He was struggling to untangle the knot of emotion that had formed in his chest, and didn't realize that Thorin was speaking to him until a hand on his shoulder forced him to stop and turn around.

They'd ended up in a shaded area of the path, where a couple of trees grew on either side. The sun had set over an hour ago, and in the dark Bilbo could see little more than Thorin's silhouette as he stepped closer. Yet the concern in his posture was clear as he asked, "Are you all right?"

Bilbo let out a long, slow breath, bowing his head as he did so. He wasn't sure why he felt as if he wanted to cry when his cousin had simply acted as she always had. The anger he felt towards the hobbits that had stood by and done nothing was unjustified—they'd had no reason to get involved. And his frustration had little sense behind it either—the children at the party were not his own, and he had no real knowledge of what was good or bad for them.

Once again, he'd found himself wrapped up in contradictions.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo."

"For what?" He lifted his head. "You did nothing wrong."

"I am sorry for what happened," Thorin said. "I did not realize that attending a simple celebration would end in this manner." His expression darkened. "And I have a few choice words that I would like your cousin to hear."

At that, Bilbo cracked a small smile. "It's all right. Everyone knows Lobelia is a…" He lifted his eyes to the sky, his own list of choice words running through his mind. "A difficult person. And I hope most of them will consider that when thinking back on what she said."

There it was—just a tiny thread had come loose, but the knot in his chest had loosened some of its tension.

"Indeed. It is in times like these that you learn who your true friends are," Thorin said.

If I have any. Bilbo thought back to Hamfast's pale face and his silence.

Only one person had attempted to stand up for him. He lifted his gaze to Thorin's face, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the ethereal blue of his eyes in the dim evening light, the tantalizing shape of his lips as they parted ever so slightly.

Thorin dropped both hands to his waist as Bilbo pulled him into a kiss, gripping his shoulders to help leverage himself to roughly the same height.

They had never done something like this outside Bag End. Bilbo had always been worried that someone would see and that it would lead to some awkward questions. But at the moment the rest of the Shire felt incredibly distant. The party seemed miles away, and the only trace of it was the faint music drifting from over the hill. Tonight, it was just him and Thorin in the obscurity of this shaded path.

When they broke apart, Thorin lifted one of Bilbo's hands from his shoulder and held it in his own, his warm, callused skin fitting perfectly against his own. He began swaying gently from side to side, and Bilbo smiled as he found himself copying his movements.

"What are you doing?"

"I believe this is called dancing," Thorin said, leaning closer. "I don't know if you're familiar with the concept."

Bilbo couldn't resist kissing him again. "I can't say that I am."

"Would you like me to teach you?"

As they danced in the shadows, slow and steady, Bilbo couldn't help but think that this was real, much more so than anything he had seen or done at the party The way their hands fit together, the ease with which their bodies moved as one, as if they had been made for each other, made him feel more alive than he'd ever felt before.

This was where he belonged—that much was clear. And it didn't seem to him that there was much reason at all to try and belong anywhere else.

Raise your hand if you can relate to Bilbo's social anxiety and self-isolation tendencies…

And don't worry about Lobelia. She'll get what's coming to her.

Credit to The Dwarrow Scholar for the idea of the Ghuregbuzramerag celebration.

Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next time things are getting heated (in more ways than one…still keeping it T rated though) so look forward to another update soon. Please leave a comment letting me know what you thought.