Hamfast watched grimly as Bilbo threw the dead wolf onto the wagon. The other two were already on it, their black blood staining the wood and lifeless eyes staring off into space.

"That's it," Bilbo told the Man who was waiting for him.

He nodded, pulling out a bag of coin and offering it to Hamfast. The gardener took it and tucked it away in a pocket. This had been going on for dozens of winters—whenever the wolves came out and had to be dealt with, there would be numerous traders who would flock around to buy the bodies and pelts. The Rangers would leave the bodies of the slain wolves, and the hobbits would sell them to the traders. Bilbo never had a need for the extra money, nor little trinkets. So, he would give the money to Hamfast and his family, and they could buy their children presents for the upcoming winter celebrations.

"Good hunting," the man said to Bilbo and Hamfast as he clambered up into the drivers seat, urging the two horses forward.

Hamfast raised his hand in farewell as the trader disappeared around a bend in the road, leaving the two hobbits alone on the walk back to Hobbiton.

"Th' wolves are more active this year," Hamfast commented idly, brushing snow off his cloaked shoulders.

Bilbo snorted. "Everything dangerous is more active this year," he muttered bitterly, earning a grunt of agreement from his companion.

The Shire's opinion of Bilbo had done almost a complete one-eighty from when he had first arrived. Instead of sneers and fearful glances that had plagued him for the first few weeks, they now watched him reverently and joyfully. They finally, finally had a hero of their own species to look up to.

The Shire was historically known as the home of the gentile hobbits. None of them carried any weapons, and they lived their days out in laughter and comfort. Whenever the harsh winters came, they were forced to rely on either the Men or the elves to send troops to help them. In return, they would give them a portion of their crops during harvest season, and allow their people to pass through the Shire without difficulty or troubles.

Now that they had Bilbo, they wouldn't have to rely so heavily on the Rangers and elves for help. They were good protectors, yes, but they didn't have any connection to the land, nor reason to go out of their way to help the hobbits. Bilbo, even though he had been gone for a few years, knew the way things worked and how the Shire's residents would react in certain situations. He was loyal to them, no matter what the gossips said, and genuinely loved the land.

Reaching Hobbiton, Hamfast and Bilbo were greeted with the screams and of a lady hobbit. She was on her knees, sobbing into her apron as her husband tried to console her while blinking away his own tears. There was a blue scarf clutched in her hand—a traditional gift of mourning given to the mother of the deceased. She reached out desperately to the two male hobbits that were walking away, but her husband held her back. One of them was carrying a child's body, covered in a white sheet. Pink splotches were forming around where the head and back were, marring the pristine white of the cloth.

Hamfast took off his hat and they stood in respectful silence as the two passed, bowing their heads. Other hobbits were attracted by the screams and did the same, a few whispering prayers to the Valar. The mother's hoarse and animalistic cries of pain echoed around the hills as her husband and another lady led her back into her home, even as she struggled and begged for her son, to hold him one last time.

When she was inside and her wails were muffled, the mourners returned to their homes, wanting to get inside before the sun set and the wolves were more apt to attack. Hamfast and Bilbo sluggishly continued on their way.

"That's the fourth child this winter," Hamfast said softly, donning his hat again. His eyes kept drifting behind them in the direction of the grieving mother's hobbit hole. "Twice as many as last winter."

"I'll tell the Rangers to double the shifts the next time I see them," Bilbo said, face emotionless as he scanned the hillside. It set his teeth on edge how close the wolf attacks were getting to town—more specifically, to Bag End and Frodo.

Frodo had taken everything in stride since Day 1, much to Bilbo's shock. He never complained about Bilbo being gone for days on end, and always followed what Miss Viola (the elderly widow who had agreed to be his tutor and nanny) told him to do. He was quieter than the other children, choosing to read books from Bilbo's library rather than roughhousing with the boys his age. He was uncomfortable and awkward with everyone except a select few, which included Sam, Hamfast, Miss Viola and his uncle.

"Give my regards to the missus," Bilbo told Hamfast when they reached Bag End.

"I'll make sure ta do that," the gardener said. "She's lookin' forward to havin' Frodo entertain Sam so she don't have to." Bilbo gave him the smile he always gave, which never was able to reach his eyes nor have joy in it.

Bilbo entered his warm home, unwrapping the scarf from his neck and removing the weapons from his belt and storing them on a shelf high in the closet. He called out that he was back, and was rewarded with the pitter-patter of little hobbit feet. Frodo rounded the corner, clutching a large book to his chest and wearing his nightclothes. Miss Viola was close behind, her wrinkly face set in a perpetual frown.

"You're back late," Frodo pointed out, setting the book down and giving his uncle a hug. The way he said it wasn't accusing; he was informing his uncle that he was later than when he had said he would be home.

"And you're up late, my boy," he said, kissing Frodo's forehead. "You should have been in bed hours ago."

"Miss Viola told me I could stay up until you got home," Frodo responded, making the old hobbit chuckle.

"Because ye begged and begged me, ya little brat," she complained, stroking a hand over his soft curls. "Put him ta bed three times, I did, 'fore I gave up an' let 'im read ta me." She gestured towards the book Frodo had been carrying.

"Thought I told you not to give Viola any trouble," Bilbo teased Frodo, poking him between the ribs. Frodo choked on his giggle, fighting to get away from his uncle.

"I tried sleeping," Frodo defended. "I just couldn't."

"I know, darling. How about you go and wash your hands, and I'll fix us up a late snack, yeah?" Frodo brightened at the mention of food, like all little hobbits did, and trotted out of the room.

Bilbo turned to Miss Viola, who was lowering herself into a chair. "I'm so sorry, Viola," he said, pulling his coat off.

"It's the third time this week you've been late," she told him through pursed lips.

Bilbo groaned helplessly. "I hurried back as fast as I could," he defended. "Me and Hamfast ran into some traders who had no bloody idea what they were doing, had to find someone ta deal with 'em, and then there were two stray orcs at the borders, but we took care of them right quick."

"More orcs?" she said in alarm, sitting forward.

"Nothing that should be worried about," Bilbo assured her, leaning against the table. "Just a few drifters that got away from the horde in Mordor."

"Still doesn't make me feel very safe," she grumbled. "Those reinforcements from the Men are obviously doing fuck all."

"Language," Bilbo couldn't resist mocking her. "Frodo's going to pick up some new words if you aren't careful." Her reproving look lacked any real heat. "The reinforcements just got here, so you can't fault them for not doing anything yet. It takes awhile to figure out where they should go."

"Yes, yes," she waved her hand flippantly. "I get it. Enough with th' excuses. Send a person up 'ere next time yer late, so we aren't sittin' here fearing you've been mauled by 'drifters' an' are on yer death bed."

"You're overly dramatic, Viola."

"Oh, it ain't me who's thinkin' this. It's Frodo. He'll never say 'e is, but he looks terrified when yer even a few minutes overdue. Looks like a kicked kitten while he sits by th' window, waitin' for ya. 'S all I can do ta keep 'im from runnin' out ta go find yeh."

Bilbo winced, dragging a hand through his unruly hair. "I'll make sure to send someone if—"

"When."

"—when I get caught up with protecting every hobbit in the Shire."

"Watch your cheek, Bilbo Baggins," she brandished her cane. "You ain't old enough fer me to pull ye over m' knee."

"I washed my hands, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo trotted in, halting Bilbo's sharp-tongued retort.

"Wonderful," Bilbo said, pulling out the chair for the small hobbitling. "You and Miss Viola can tell me all about your day while we wait for the water to boil."

"Oh no, I won't," she chuckled. "'Tis well past my bedtime, so I'll head off to bed." She struggled out of the chair with Bilbo's help, accepting the kiss to her cheek from Frodo. "Goodnight. Don't stay up too late." She left the kitchen, heading towards the guest room that had been unofficially dubbed hers after the first time she slept over.

Tea was had with minimal conversation in Bilbo's study, the quiet and warm atmosphere lulling Frodo into a half awake state. The young hobbit managed to give Bilbo a brief and vague summary of his day before he was too tired to talk anymore, eyelids drooping while he sipped his drink and nibbled on a biscuit. Knowingly, the hobbitling's uncle picked a book from his shelves and opened it to the beginning, allowing the words to flow out in a monotonous tone that had Frodo asleep within the first ten pages.

He set the teacups aside and carried Frodo to his room. The child's room was plainer than any youngling's room ought to be, but Frodo seemed to like it like that. Whenever anyone in Frodo's trusted circle of friends—Hamfast, Viola, Bilbo and Sam—would try to persuade him to decorate it in any way, he would politely tell them that he was fine with the way his room was and return to whatever he was doing.

Tucking Frodo in, Bilbo went straight into his room and collapsed face first onto his bed, falling asleep within minutes.

"Have a fun time," Bilbo waved after Miss Viola as Frodo lead her down the path. "Make sure you don't give Missus Gamgee any grief!"

"I won't, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo called over his shoulder.

Bilbo closed the door and sighed heavily, going into his room to change into proper clothes. He'd sent Frodo out to spend the day with Missus Gamgee and Sam at the inn, so the house would be empty for the meeting he was supposed to have. As he'd told Miss Viola the night before, the new reinforcements that had been sent to the Shire had to be organized and equally spread out. Not only that, but the others' schedules had to change, and then they had to be taught the proper etiquette on how to deal with the hobbits…

Bilbo washed the dirt and grime off his body from yesterday before putting on clean clothes. He tidied up the study and kitchen, setting out all of his cakes and snacking foods—these Men always seemed to be hungry and willing to eat him out of house and home, reminding him of a certain time those years ago with some certain dwarves—

No. He had neither the time nor patience to think about that. Bilbo was a busy man, and that was far in the past. There was no need to 'reminisce' about what fun he had travelling with them and what could have been if Thorin wasn't such a pigheaded, greedy, thick-skulled little—

Bilbo angrily shook his head and dug through his papers, trying to find what he would need for the meeting. He found it underneath a stack of Frodo's recently read books right as there was a knocking at the door. Of course they're early.

"Coming, coming," he uttered under his breath as he set the papers on the edge of his desk and rushed to the front door to let the Men in. He pulled the door open, a professional smile on his face—

It wasn't the Men.

Standing side by side was two brothers wearing travelling clothes, packs thrown over their shoulders. Four Ponies were a few yards away, nosing the ground for grass and vegetation to eat with the other two travellers standing next to them. They all had carefully plaited braids in their hair, and all but one had a full beard.

"Bilbo."

Fili and Kili dashed towards their hobbit with their arms outstretched, expressions overjoyed. They were only a step away before the shock morphed into red anger inside Bilbo. He took a step back and slapped Fili's arm away from him, looking practically murderous.

"What are you doing here?" he said in a dangerously low voice.

Fili and Kili's joy melted down into pained confusion—and no, Bilbo's heart didn't feel a twinge at that sight. Fili collected himself and tried to touch him again, reaching for Bilbo's hand.

"Bilbo, it's us," he said, giving him a warm smile. Horror lit up his eyes when he saw the long scar that ran across Bilbo's cheek. "By the Valar, what happened—"

"Going back to the Shire happened," he growled, shirking from the hand. "What, did you expect me to come through the journey back by myself unhurt?" The brothers shared a guilty look, and Kili clenched his hands into fists tightly.

"We're so sorry, Bilbo," Fili said softly. "We begged Uncle Thorin to let us escort you back to the Shire, but—he was mad with gold lust. Completely out of his mind. He wouldn't listen to reason." Bilbo let out a bark of laughter, startling them.

"Yes, I'm quite aware that he wouldn't listen to reason," he said bitterly. "You still didn't answer my question, though. Why the bloody hell are you at my door after all this time?"

And why didn't you write me, even just to say that you were alive? Or to ask if I were alive? I still have night terrors, waking up with you and your brother lying dead on the battlefield, or with orcs ripping you to shreds…

"Everything was so chaotic," Kili entered the conversation, sounding hoarse and absolutely heartbroken. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "We didn't have enough dwarves to send a party out to the Shire, and the roads were still infested with orcs…"

"But we're here now," Fili blurted. "To make things right. Thorin wants you to come back to Erebor—to be treated as the hero you should be have been as soon as the battle ended."

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he's not going to change his mind and have me executed as soon as we have a conversation?" he asked with a bit more bite than he intended.

"Never," Kili choked out, sounding disgusted at the idea. "He's back to normal now."

"Not fully back, though," Fili interrupted. "He's—he's not the same without you." He lowered his voice, glancing over at where Dwalin and Ori were worriedly standing by the horses. "He misses you so much, Bilbo. He was completely devastated when he found out what he'd done. He wanted to come get you and apologize in person, but his advisors wouldn't let him."

Kili smiled shakily, attempting to lighten the mood. "Our mother was furious when she found out," he chuckled. "Nearly lobbed off Thorin's head. It took four guards and Dwalin to get her off 'im."

Fili's face softened. "Mother is dying to meet you," he added. "You'd love her: you two enjoy the same jokes and sweet things. Could have a tea party where all you did was complain and swap stories about Thorin." After a few beats without even a hint of amusement from Bilbo, Kili and him grimaced.

"Please, please come back to Erebor," Kili begged. "Everyone wants to see you terribly. They want to apologize—all of us."

Bilbo jerked a hand across the back of his neck, letting out a harsh breath through his nose. "I have things to do here," he said thickly. "Responsibilities. I don't know if you've noticed, but most of Middle-Earth has orcs and goblins running about through it, and the hobbits are completely useless when it comes to defending themselves."

"It doesn't have to be a long stay," Kili hastily said. "Just…just long enough for you to realize how sorry we are." Bilbo didn't answer.

"We know that it's impossible to ever fully make up for how horrible we were to you, and for the things we made you go through," Fili said guiltily. "But we're going to make sure that nothing like that ever happens again. We swear it."

Silence reigned between the three of them as the brothers waited for Bilbo to respond. The hobbit felt his heartbeat pick up and his whole body thrum with tension.

"I—I don't—I need time. To think."

"Of course!" Fili and Kili rushed to say.

"We're going to be in the Shire for the next week or two," Kili said, "at the inn. So when you've decided what you want to do…or if you want to talk…just come and find us."

Bilbo swallowed and nodded. He could read it in Kili's face that the younger brother was silently begging for Bilbo to let him into Bag End, but the hobbit couldn't do that. Not yet. It was just too much to deal with.

So, with a cordial nod to the four dwarves, Bilbo closed the door and went to go pour himself a stiff drink, the memories of Kili's broken face filling his muddled brain.