A/N: So I felt horrible about leaving this for so long, so I wrote you a chapter today instead of doing work - enjoy!

CHAPTER WARNING: violence, death, gore

Frodo skipped ahead on the path before skipping back to Bilbo.

"Come on! You're so slow, Uncle Bilbo! Hurry up we need to give the dog a home!"

Bilbo sighed, refusing to change his pace. They had only just left the house and Frodo was already testing his patience.

"Frodo," Bilbo said, running a finger along the side of the ring in his pocket in an attempt to calm down, "we'll be there soon enough. Running to Farmer Maggot's will only just tire you out and make the walk back home seem longer."

"But Uncle," Frodo whined, "it's so far and you're going so slow!"

Bilbo did not respond, instead keeping his current pace, Frodo settled into a rather petulant walk next to Bilbo. For a few minutes, the faunt remained silent before he sighed and started kicking at every pebble and rock in his path. Unluckily for Bilbo, his nephew's aim was quite poor and he managed to send some of the pebbles directly into Bilbo's feet on more than one occasion.

When a rock managed to hit him in the side of his ankle for the second time, Bilbo stopped walking and looked at his nephew, feeling close to his wits' end. "Frodo, if I tell you a story will you please stop kicking rocks?"

Frodo perked up, a smile taking over his face. "Please! Can you tell me about when you went with the dwarves and killed a dragon and became a queen? I heard that's what happened from Merry and Pippin! But don't tell them I said this but they're rather stupid, even though they're my cousins and I love them they really are so I wouldn't believe it had happened if they hadn't said that they heard about it from Gandalf and you didn't have your sword and that shiny mail coat in your trunk and all of those maps!"

Bilbo felt as if Smaug himself had punched him in the gut before the familiar panic was replaced with fury. I will kill that wizard if it's the last thing I do – spreading a rumor that I was a queen! A queen - can men even be queens?!

"Frodo," Bilbo said through gritted teeth, "what else did your cousins tell you?"

"That you're a hero and that you're friends with elves and dwarves and Beorns!" Frodo paused, frowning. "What's a Beorn?"

"That's it! I cannot believe what those two - I am – Frodo, don't you start believing this nonsense! I am never letting those two out of my sights! If they'll believe this, this," Bilbo raised his fists in front of his face, as if the answers would be written on his palms, "rubbish then they'll believe that the clouds are made of spun sugar – which they most certainly are not so don't you go telling Meriadoc and Peregrin that. I will not be responsible for them jumping out of a tree in order to get at the clouds." Bilbo started marching off toward Farmer Maggot's in a huff. "Hero!" muttered Bilbo. "First I had to deal with Fili and Kili's ridiculous habit of shoving crowns of all sorts on me and now this!"

"So you aren't a hero, Uncle? Were Fili and Kili heroes?" Frodo asked, practically bouncing now that they were travelling at a faster pace.

"Oh Valar, no!" scoffed Bilbo, waving one hand as if to dismiss the notion entirely. "I just happened to get dragged into the whole disaster by the will of a wizard! But Fili and Kili," his face softened, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "they were truly heroes and anyone who says otherwise is a liar."

"Was it really so bad? Travelling that far and seeing so much seems like so much fun!"

Bilbo paused and slowed his pace as he lost himself in thought. Was it really so bad? Memories of dwarves, of campfires and songs and meat that somehow refused to cook entirely, danced through his mind. Thorin was in nearly every memory; whether the dwarf was ignoring Gandalf's sensible advice and inadvertently leading them all toward trouble, sneaking braids into Bilbo's hair when he thought the hobbit was asleep, or being an irate ass, he was there.

Bilbo put his hands in his pockets, one hand toying with his ring, and sighed. My life, he thought as he leaned his head to one side to crack his neck, has turned out nothing like it could or should have but I really don't regret the journey, just the way it ended.

And Thorin's gold lust, whispered a voice in the back of his mind. You certainly could have done without that - he nearly killed you.

"It's complicated, Frodo," Bilbo finally said as he ran one hand through his curls. "And it was certainly quite the unexpected journey, but no. Most of it wasn't too bad – but look! Farmer Maggot's is just over this next hill -"

Frodo was off like a shot.

Grinning, Bilbo shook his head and continued on his way. Happier memories of two young dwarves, antsy and ready to take off at a moment's notice, filled his head.

"No, not so bad at all."

Bilbo could smell the farm before he could see it and the closer he got, the more the farm asserted its presence. Fields of short and spring-green wheat and corn surrounded the wagon trail that he walked on, made by the countless times wagons and their riders made the journey to and from the Maggot Farm.

The path led up a hill, towards a copse of trees at the top that surrounded a whitewashed farmhouse which was built above ground, unusual for a hobbit. Two rocking chairs sat on the wrap-around porch, toys littering the porch and yard near the house. Flocks of chickens roamed, pecking at bugs. Bilbo could hear laughter, barking, and the occasional shriek coming from somewhere behind the house, which he assumed came from his nephew and whatever puppies he had found.

A sudden flurry of wings and squawks erupted near the porch and

Farmer Maggot waved greeted Bilbo with a smile and a "hullo there!" The two hobbits were roughly of an age, although Bilbo had years and nearly a world's worth of experience on his side.

"Hey there, Bilbo! Frodo had you beat by a solid few minutes, seems quite excited to be taking in one of the pups," Farmer Maggot said as he started walking over to the barn.

Bilbo heard his nephew before he saw him, with the way he was yelling excitedly as a group of pups chased him around a clearing. Their weary mother looked on from the shade, taking the chance to nap once Farmer Maggot arrived.

"I'm just going to let him figure out which one he wants to take home with us, are there any that aren't up for adoption?"

Farmer Maggot nodded and laughed when Frodo fell, as the faunt was promptly covered in puppies. "I already told the lad which three are the ones I'm keeping, as they seem to have the most potential for being good herding dogs – not to mention guard dogs for my mushrooms."

Bilbo nodded in appreciation, silently hoping that his nephew wouldn't join the ranks of young hobbits foolish enough to try and steal Farmer Maggot's mushrooms. While the farmer's dogs weren't vicious – they were trained to intimidate and scare trespassers, not harm them – there were scores of hobbits across the Shire who would make the journey across the Brandywine from Buckland to Bamfurlong just to see if they could manage to swipe some of them.

"Frodo seems to be a good one, definitely a bit more well-behaved than the last time I saw him," Farmer Maggot said with a chuckle as he absently gestured toward Buckland. "He and his cousins, those little hellions, are always sneaking over here to steal my mushrooms. The last time – this was only a few days ago, mind you – they brought along other children who knew nothing of the plan in an attempt to create a diversion!"

Bilbo couldn't hold back the Tookish laughter that bubbled out of him despite his efforts to hold it back.

"When we'd rounded up enough of the children that the dogs could track those two down, they were practically sick with how many mushrooms they'd eaten." Farmer Maggot shook his head and ran one tanned hand down the side of his face, "I'll never understand how they managed to eat two sacks of mushrooms between the two of them, or round up the first army of children the Shire has ever seen!" His face was equal parts awe and exasperation.

The two hobbits laughed, imagining the way those two would talk others into going along with their plans. While that kind of deviousness was a little disturbing to see in faunts so young, the two of them were genuinely good kids as far as Bilbo could see. They just needed some discipline. And maybe a leash.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Meriadoc or Peregrin were sneaking onto this farm now," Bilbo said, doing his best to suppress a grin. "I'm honestly terrified of what could happen when they eventually come to visit Frodo. I'm beginning to think that it might be best to send him to stay with his cousins in Buckland and let them deal with the mayhem!"

It's been so long since I've had a conversation with another adult – one who wasn't trying to gauge how much treasure was buried in his cellar or a meddling wizard. Bilbo smiled as they both watched his nephew playing with the pups. Although I remember hearing from Gandalf that Farmer Maggot and that Tom Bombadil fellow have a rather cordial relationship – maybe that's why his mushrooms are so fantastic. (Little did Bilbo know that Tom held a lot of respect for the farmer, a feat few have been able to accomplish over the course of millennia.)

A comfortable and companionable silence settled over the duo, the bright spring sun warm on their faces as light breeze skipped across the farm. The tall grass swayed and a bell gently tolled somewhere nearby, a gentle reminder that the day was slowly marching on.

"Looks like Frodo's found a new friend," Farmer Maggot stated with a chuckle. "I'll be glad to be rid of that one."

Frodo was on the ground, covered in puppies. It took the laughing and barking mass of fuzz and faunt rolling around a few times for Bilbo to see that one pup had caught his nephew's attention. Of course, it's the one merrily chewing my nephew's ear.

"Glad to be rid of that one?" Bilbo asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

The farmer shrugged and gestured toward the pup in question. "She seems a bit too feisty for farm work. Bright, though; seems to take well to the training I've tried to start with the pups. As long as the two of you provide the leadership she needs and put in the time to train her well, she'll be a great dog." Farmer Maggot turned to look Bilbo in the eye. "I'm serious about the leadership, I'll have you know. Farm dogs like these are intelligent; you can't forget that. They need to be active and with people who make it clear that they're the ones in charge, otherwise they get nervous and a nervous dog is a dangerous dog."

"Uncle! I found her!"

The two looked over at Frodo, trying his best to stand despite the sea of puppies continually knocking him off balance.

Two hobbits and an overeager pup walked down the lane – or at least that's what Bilbo wished would happen. In reality, it was one hobbit walking as the faunt and pup ran up down the lane. Sticks were thrown, rocks were tripped over, ditches were fallen into; in short, it was the least relaxing birthday Bilbo had ever experienced.

Finally it seemed that Frodo was getting tired, as he had settled into a more sustainable pace next to Bilbo.

"What should we call her, Uncle?" Frodo asked as he picked up a stick and threw it, the pup barking excitedly as she chased it down.

"Well, you have to consider what names you like – she'll have it for life," Bilbo said, running a hand through his nephew's curls. Seeing his nephew happy was worth any trouble the decision to get a dog could bring.

"Thorin!" Frodo called out, testing the name as the pup proudly carried her stick back towards Frodo – her tail wagging so hard that her entire rear end wiggled, giving her a funny gait.

"No."

"Why not, Uncle? Is it because it's a boy's name?" Frodo's face scrunched in concentration. "I don't think it matters if a name is supposed to be a boy's name or a girl's name. I like it, and she's brave too!"

Bilbo's heart felt heavy as he looked down at his nephew, torn between pride and an unwillingness to hear that name – his name – every day for the Valar know how long.

"Uncle?"
"Yes?"

"Is it because you're sad your friend's dead? If it makes you sad she can have a different name," Frodo said, looking up at his uncle with sympathy.

Bilbo knelt down, pulling his nephew into his arms. Sometimes I feel like this child is growing up far too fast, no hobbit his age should have to go through losing both their parents at once.

Seeing the possibility for attention from not one but two hobbits, the pup quickly jumped up on them. She was licking everything she could, her tail wagging ferociously, as she whined excitedly in the way only dogs can.

"We'll think of a good name," Bilbo said, chuckling as he stood, looking back towards home. "Now, while we walk – I don't know about you but I am absolutely starving – let's figure out a good name for her, hmm?"

"Can I pick a name from your stories? Or in another language?" Frodo asked excitedly, grabbing at his Uncle's hand as they continued walking back to Bag End.

"In a hole in the ground lived a hobbit…"

The remainder of the walk home was filled with stories of Bilbo's journey, as Bilbo carried a sleeping pup in one arm as he dragged a sleepy nephew along with the other.

Frodo and Hû were curled up in Bilbo's bed together, after they'd eaten dinner – cold turkey for all three – and given the way he'd carried them both from the den to the bedroom without either waking, Bilbo figured that not even a dragon could wake them.

Taking the opportunity for a little solitude, Bilbo stepped out to have a smoke in front of his house. The stars were out, shining brightly in the night, and the moon was a thin crescent in the sky. Fireflies decorated trees throughout the Shire, their lights bringing the stars down into the trees. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked, and the occasional owl hooted, hidden somewhere in the trees.

Bilbo reached into his pocket, pulling out an intricately carved pipe that was markedly dwarven in origin. Instead of the long, gently arched neck of hobbity pipes, this one had a straight neck carved in such a way to make it appear as if the neck and bowl of the pipe were made of scales. Aside from decorative bits that concealed the joints where various pieces of the pipe came together, it was a made of a plain, warmly colored wood.

Hidden away in his room he had another pipe, one that had belonged to Thorin. As it was one of the few things he had to remember the dwarf by, it stayed safe in a chest in his room – one that now had a lock on it, put there when Bilbo decided his nephew should come live with him.

As Bilbo sat and smoked, the guilt came pouring in with each puff.

I wasn't able to save him, Bilbo thought as the familiar weight grabbed his heart, making it difficult to breathe. I wasn't able to save any of them – I was so close, but I couldn't. I failed…

It was the noise that unsettled Bilbo the most. Cries of fear, of pain, of anger, of victory; steel hitting steel, hitting wood, hitting flesh. He wasn't able to use his hearing to discern friend from foe in the chaos, he could only hope that he wasn't about to get cut down from behind.

He'd seen it happen to others, he'd done it to an orc himself.

Blood stained his sword. Blood stained his hands, his clothes; unbeknownst to him flecks were in his hair and on his face.

The elves were at his back, or at least they were the last time Bilbo checked – he was too scared to take his eyes off the foes approaching him to check.

He didn't know how it happened but Bilbo kept moving forward, toward the love of his life and his almost-nephews. They were so close, near a pile of rubble that would make a great vantage point.

Bilbo struggled to move forward against the tide, squeezing between men, elves, and dwarves where possible, cutting down his foes when needed.

So much blood, so much death. He was surrounded by it, stepping on wounded and dead from all five armies in order to reach Thorin, Fili, and Kili.

He was so close.

Bilbo could hear them now as he fought his way closer, over and between the rubble. Stabbing, slashing, parrying. He stumbled and failed to completely block a sword; he didn't feel the sword cut through his shoulder, but he felt the blood run warm down his arm. As he could still move the arm, Bilbo paid it no mind and worked harder to get to them – to his family.

As long as he could be there and make sure his family was safe or die trying, that was all that mattered.

"Kili!" he cried out, rushing towards the dwarves.

Kili turned and that familiar goofy grin took over his face, despite the fact that his nose was at a distinctly unnatural angle.

An orc appeared behind the youngest prince.

"Kili, behind you!" Bilbo desperately cried out, doubling his efforts to cover the space between them – it couldn't have been more than three or four feet but it was enough.

Before Kili could turn around, before Bilbo could reach him, just as Thorin turned around, the orc struck and a blade appeared through Kili's chest.

The orc was struck down and Bilbo tripped, as he hit the ground he could feel his brain rattle in his skull – the world was slowly going dark. Looking over Bilbo could see he landed next to Kili, and took the dwarf's hand.

"At least," Kili said, trying to grin despite the blood leaking out of his mouth, "Fili will survive."

Bilbo squeezed his hand, unable to tell which of the three Kilis was the real one.

The ground under the two became warm with Kili's blood.

When he woke up, it was to an eerie silence broken only by the occasional cry for help.

Bilbo realized he was on the battlefield, with something in his hand. He opened his eyes, only to find Kili's death-pale face. He could have been sleeping, if it wasn't for the blood.

Oh Valar, the blood, Bilbo thought, frantically trying to get out of it – realizing he was covered in it. He could feel the panic bubbling up –

A flash of gold caught his eye.

"No. No, no, no, please no," Bilbo whispered, frantically crawling over towards what could only be Fili.

He was wrong.

It was only Fili's head.

Bilbo scrambled backwards as fast as he could, his breath coming in short, panicky gasps.

"No, no, no, no…"

Bilbo backed into a boulder, his eyes never leaving the flash of gold on the battlefield in front of him.

He didn't know how much time had passed.

"If," he whispered to himself, feeling as if an oliphant was standing on his chest, "Kili and Fili are still here, w-where's Thorin?"

A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, it's about half the length of the rest of the fic! I didn't expect it to be so long and I'm beginning to think that the rest of the chapters might end up being super lengthy as well – but that means that I'll only be putting chapters up about once a month until my academics lighten up or I'm back in the US. Let me know if you all want long chapters that aren't published as often or shorter chapters that are published more frequently?

While I do have an outline in terms of where this tory is going to go and some major events (the dog was definitely unexpected tbh), if there's anything you'd like to have happen in this tory please let me know! :D