Chapter 40

All the World's a Stage

'They're really going all out this year. There's to be a feast, dancing, concerts, an exhibition of statues to be revealed the day before and... Oh.'

Thorin arched an eyebrow. 'What else?'

'A new play in the week leading up to the celebration.'

He wrinkled his nose in response. Kate couldn't blame him. They both had very vivid memories of the last time. Some ambitious fool had attempted the same thing nearly twenty years ago. It had been a very fantastical re-telling of the quest and had been notoriously low on its usage of actual facts. Kate had sat through it, biting her tongue until it bled. Thorin had sat through it scowling the playwright into an early retirement in the Ered Luin.

Duly Noted, Chapter 39: Burgling the Burglar

It was an experience akin to being dunked into a warm bath, Bilbo reflected. Ever since they had left Mirkwood behind them, he could feel the excitement buzzing under his skin. Here were the places he had so longed to see. The Long Lake was a sight for sore eyes, especially now that the vegetation had returned to its shores. Lake-town had doubled in size at least. Clearly it was a prosperous place to live.

But the Long Lake had not held his attention for very long, because now that the dense mass of Mirkwood was behind them, he saw Erebor at last. It stood, tall and dignified, presiding over the goings-on of the surrounding area, dominating the landscape for many miles around.

Something tugged at his heart then.

It bloomed into full-blown joy the moment he stepped foot through the gates. The first one they met was Dwalin, who was on duty at the gates.

'Thráin, at last!' he exclaimed. He was a little greyer – and balder, although it would take a braver soul than Bilbo to comment on it – but otherwise entirely unchanged. 'We'd begun to worry.'

'No need.' Thráin launched himself off his pony and indicated Bilbo. 'Look, I've brought a guest.'

After that it was all a bit of a blur. He was lifted off his pony, embraced and clapped on the shoulder and chatted at by more dwarves than he cared to count. Some were old friends who appeared out of nowhere and others were dwarves who knew only of him, but did not in fact let that hold them back from offering him the warmest of welcomes.

When had he last felt so wanted?

Bag End was still a comfort to him and he still thought of it as home. And yet Bag End was often too empty, too silent. His kin were not so eager to step foot over the threshold – unless of course it was to nose around to find the legendary treasure – because after all he had seen and done, he was the strange one, the odd one out.

In all the blur he did remember the dwarf Thráin enthusiastically introduced as his older brother Thoren, whom Bilbo would have known as such by virtue of his likeness to his father and the red hair he shared with his mother.

As if thinking of them had summoned them, the King and Queen under the Mountain were among the next who greeted him.

'Bilbo Baggins!' Kate exclaimed. 'As I live and breathe! This is a surprise. The very best kind.' She reached out and shook Bilbo's hand, albeit a little less vigorous than many of the other folk who had already come to say hello. 'You look well.'

'And you,' Bilbo returned, finding he meant it. Her life clearly suited her. This he knew from their correspondence, but he could see it as well. There was a contentment about her now that he had not seen on the quest itself, where she had been abrasive, contrary and often unhappy. But now her happiness showed in the way she held herself, in a smile that came easy and lasted long and the casual way in which she interacted with the people she married into.

It was evident in Thorin as well, though subtler. Yet the smile he bestowed on Bilbo was genuine, as was the handshake and the greeting of 'Master Burglar' which he bestowed on the hobbit who hadn't stolen anything in twenty-five years, thank you very much.

He was about to point that out, but Kate stepped in and saved him from himself: 'It's an honorific,' she explained. 'One that is yours for life. After all, what better way to remind everyone that you stole us from the elves with such skill, eh?'

'I think he'll need a few more honorifics then, amad,' Thoren chipped in, grinning mischievously. 'Something like Distracter of Dragons, perhaps.'

'Aye, Treasure Stealer would do as well,' observed another familiar voice and Bilbo turned to find Fíli behind him. 'It's not every soul who steals a treasure from between a dragon's teeth. Do you still have the tooth, Master Burglar?'

As if Thráin would have let him leave his home without it. 'In my pack,' he announced. 'And there really is no need for all these names, you know.'

'Well, your relatives don't appreciate you,' Thráin said in a would-be casual way that suggested he had Opinions on the matter. 'Seems right we make up for their deficiencies. Oh, hello adad!'

'We ought to make up for their ignorance as well,' Dwalin agreed, another one with Opinions. 'I reckon we ought to come with you on the way back and set them straight.'

Bilbo pictured his relatives and friends confronted with the might of dwarves on a mission and decided that this was not a good idea. Not that he said so. If his memory served him right, the dwarves were unlikely to listen.

'So, where will I stay?' he wondered instead, as a genuine question and to give the dwarves something other to think about than the question of what should be done with Bilbo's troublesome kin.

'With us, of course,' Kate said immediately. 'If you want to, that is?'

They may not have always got on during the quest, but they were friends and had become even better friends over the course of their long correspondence. 'Very gladly.'

'Well, that's settled then. Thoren, dearest, would you like to give me a hand with this luggage?'

'And what about me, amad?' Thráin asked, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

Kate was as quick-witted as Bilbo remembered her, because she did not miss a beat. 'Oh, you can help with the luggage too.'

'I've been away for almost a year and yet this is the greeting I get?' he complained with mock despair.

Kate grinned at him and then moved over to embrace him. 'And it is so wonderful to see you, darling. Your room's all ready for you.'

'You knew I was coming?'

Kate shrugged. 'Well, you're always home for the anniversary, aren't you? I took a chance.'

The self-satisfaction in Thráin's grin increased tenfold. 'At least this year you'll have full numbers.'

There were days when Kate was sure that Thráin would give her grey hairs before she was five years older, but then he'd do something nice and thoughtful and all she wanted to do was to hug him and ruffle his hair in a way he was sure to find embarrassing now that he was all grown up.

'You, sweetheart, have a heart of the purest gold,' she declared. She hadn't asked him to go and fetch the burglar, but he'd known that the company would like to have him there and so had gone to retrieve him.

'Why, amad, have you cut him open to check?' Thoren asked interestedly.

She shook her head at him. 'Shame on you! Is that how you'd repay such a good act?'

'Well, it's you who always says that no good deed goes unpunished, so I reckon I'd ask.'

There was little she could say to that, so she took up one of Bilbo's bags – of which Thorin, bless him, promptly relieved her – and they moved the party to their home. Many of the impromptu revellers trailed behind, but Thorin stopped most of them at the door with a promise that they would be admitted in the morning when their burglar had had the chance to rest after his long voyage.

'Oh, this is nice,' Bilbo observed from the middle of the living room. 'Very nice indeed!'

'We have not been idle,' Thorin agreed. And indeed much work had been done. There were times when Kate could hardly recall how dilapidated Erebor had been when she had first come here. Oh, there were many areas that yet awaited their attention, but it was so much better already.

'Yes, yes, I can see that,' Bilbo agreed. Now that he was here at last he seemed almost nervous, as if he did not quite know what to make of all this attention.

She would have remarked on it had a knock on the door not distracted her. 'I'll get it,' she told Thorin. She could get rid of inconvenient visitors just as well.

And this was an inconvenient visitor, if not quite the kind she was expecting. 'Master Orin.' This was just about the last thing she had expected. 'Good evening. This is rather unexpected.'

Thorin, who had been on his way to show Bilbo his room, thought better of it in favour of scowling in Orin's general direction. Thoren tried to hide his grin behind his hand. Thráin and Bilbo exchanged mystified looks. Well, they would; they hadn't been a party to the train wreck that was Orin's idea for a play. Not yet at any rate, but Kate was reasonably sure that their blissful ignorance was about to come to an untimely end.

'Yes, my lady,' said Orin. It was telling that he did not apologise for the lateness of the hour. By now she wondered if he was even aware of it.

'It is very late, Master Orin,' Kate pointed out when more of an explanation did not appear to be forthcoming. 'May I ask what was so urgent that could not wait until tomorrow?'

This seemed to focus him. 'Ah, yes,' he said, digging around in his pocket and coming up with a piece of paper.

Oh, dear. Kate had a sinking feeling that all of a sudden she knew exactly where this was going.

And indeed it was: 'I have heard that this night the hobbit known as the Burglar has arrived,' Orin said. In vain he tried to peer around Kate – who very purposefully blocked his view – to catch sight of said burglar.

'His name is Bilbo Baggins,' she pointed out, not entirely sure if that had been brought to Orin's attention yet.

Orin nodded vigorously. 'Just so, my lady. And I realised that this presented a most opportune chance to pursue the truth even more, as you know your husband was very keen to see brought to stage.'

Thorin was no such thing. He had told Orin that if he had to go ahead with this play at all, he had better stick to the facts. It shouldn't be a great surprise that the true meaning of this message had sailed a mile or so over Orin's empty head.

The horrible attempt to mask a bark of laughter as a coughing fit behind her back convinced her that Thoren at least was enjoying himself enormously, which made him a minority of one.

'None of which explains your sudden appearance at my doorstep at this quite indecent hour.' At least let him get it out, so that he could leave and Kate could toss his ridiculous questions onto the fire herself. 'Would you be so kind as to state your purpose?'

'Ah, yes,' said Orin as if he had for a moment quite forgotten what he was doing there until she reminded him, Maker help her. 'I wondered if I could perhaps trouble this fabled burglar…'

'Bilbo Baggins,' Kate repeated.

'… Just so, Bilbo Baggins, to answer a few questions to aid me in my endeavour to recreate the events of twenty-five years ago to the very best of my abilities.'

'Questions?'

'Yes, my lady.'

'Indelicate ones?'

He didn't even blush. 'Where necessary.'

Kate had already discovered that their ideas of what was necessary were not on first name acquaintance. She suppressed the urge to groan.

Bilbo's curiosity had been tickled by the exchange at the door and now he showed up next to her, wondering out loud whatever was the matter and could he perhaps be of assistance? Hobbits, Kate reflected, were just a little bit too polite sometimes. And in this case he opened himself up to a world of trouble.

Orin smiled widely as he pushed the offending piece of paper into Bilbo's hands. 'Ah, yes, Master Burglar, thank you ever so much for asking. If you could see your way to answering these questions before the end of the week, I'd be much obliged. Good night!'

He was off with a smile before Kate or Thorin could take him to task, leaving Bilbo to stare in bewilderment at the list and Thoren, cheeky little so-and-so, laughing his bloody head off.

Why is it, Kate wondered with no small amount of incredulity, that nothing ever goes according to plan around here?

'So, what happened?' Thráin asked. It had been some time, but Bilbo had been yawning quite extensively, so it had been decreed that everyone should go to bed. Thráin however was wide awake and so had invited himself into his brother's room to find out what it was that he had been missing.

Thoren made himself at home on the couch, settling in to tell all the news. 'Well,' he said, grinning from ear to ear, 'there's to be a play. About the quest.'

Somehow this both did and did not answer the question. 'Is it any good?'

Thoren shrugged. 'Don't know. No one has seen a script.'

'And?' Thráin prompted. He could tell that Thoren was bouncing with anticipation to tell him anyway, so the suspense would not last long at any rate.

'It's probably going to be a bit indecent,' Thoren said, leaning forwards as if imparting a great secret. 'Given the questions the playwright was asking amad and adad.' He handed a piece of paper over. 'Pilfered from adad's waste basket,' he said by way of clarification.

Thráin skimmed it. It was probably good that he was reading this by candlelight, because the content would not look good in the light of day. 'There are things I don't need to know.' He pushed the paper away as though it had burnt him or could attack him if he wasn't careful. 'Especially not about our parents.'

Just a shame that this was not that good. He wouldn't have minded sitting through a play about his parents' quest. He had been too young at the time to attend the previous attempt, which had not been shown in Erebor since, and he would rather like seeing the adventures he had grown up hearing about brought to life on a stage.

Provided it was done well.

Judging by the list Thoren had shown him, it was perhaps better to find a good reason not to go.

'All the company received one,' Thoren said. 'Including Uncle Dori.'

Well, there was a sight Thráin was rather sorry to have missed. He laughed. 'I reckon it's a miracle I didn't hear him all the way in the Misty Mountains.'

'See, I told you your hearing was going, 'cause I heard it down at the forges and that's quite a long way away from where Master Orin lives.'

'Aye, you're superior in every way,' Thráin agreed. And wasn't he glad of that, for this meant that he was also first in line for the crown, something Thráin did not care for in the slightest. 'So, all the company's got one, and now our burglar.'

'Oh, he pestered Mr Lufur with one about the battle at the door.' Which made sense. In some way at least. 'And I wouldn't mind wagering that he'll have a long list of queries presented to Elvaethor and his sister, what's-her-name…'

'Tauriel.'

'Aye, her. I wouldn't mind wagering that they'll receive one the moment they ride through the gate for the celebrations. In fact, I'd be greatly surprised if he isn't lying in wait behind the gates, so to better accost them the instant they arrive.'

'Perhaps I should ride out to warn them,' Thráin said. It was odd how he was very pleased to be home once more – and it truly had been a very long absence this time – but already his feet were itching. The walls that offered shelter and protection to his people already chafed and confined in a way he had never truly cared for.

Thoren's face fell. 'Surely you would not leave so soon?'

'Nah, couldn't do that.' Because that was the other part of this; he did miss his kin, especially Thoren. 'Though it would not be for long and you could accompany me.'

Thoren indicated a mountain of paperwork on the desk in the corner. 'That all has to be done before the celebrations. And some of that is in Sindarin too.'

'Rather you than me.' And he meant that. 'I'll stick to the forges and join you all for dinners and breakfasts and whatever you do of an evening.'

Thoren smiled again. 'That's better.'

They didn't speak of leaving again.

Thorin was, as usual, awake earlier than his wife. This morning was no different. Kate had put her head on his chest rather than her pillow as she so often did, smiling in her sleep. Most of her hair had escaped the plait Thorin had put it in when they went to bed. That too was not unusual.

Yet a few other things were. The return of Thráin was a welcome relief. Aye, the lad was grown now and well able to look after himself, yet it was impossible not to worry. Thorin knew the wilds and was well acquainted with its dangers. That Thráin had subjected Master Baggins to those dangers as well was something Thorin was glad not to have known at the time. He might have sent an escort.

He probably should have.

Dawn could not be far off and now that he was awake, he would not sleep again. He gently disentangled Kate, who murmured a sleepy protest, but did not truly wake. If she did not rise of her own accord, he would wake her in an hour or perhaps a little later. It had not gone unnoticed that as the anniversary grew closer, the amount of paperwork dealing with it had multiplied day by day, and more so than the years before.

He had half a mind to make a start on it himself to lighten her load.

The door to Thoren's room was ajar, he noted on the way to the living room, and when he peered inside he found his two eldest sons sprawled on a bed meant for one, evidently having talked late into the night. He nodded and smiled.

As it happened, he was this day not the first to rise. Bilbo Baggins had settled himself in one of the chairs before the cold hearth, the wretched list in his hands. Judging by the stare he bestowed on it, the process of answering Orin's outrageous questions was not proceeding smoothly.

'I should be glad to stoke up the flames should you wish to burn it,' he offered.

The erstwhile burglar startled. 'Ah, oh, well…' The fumbling and stumbling over his words had not changed in twenty-five years. Truth be told, the burglar himself seemed unchanged entirely to the naked eye. 'I was indeed wondering. Some of these questions are…'

'Indelicate?'

Bilbo laughed. 'Yes, that would be the word.'

'The offer to light the fire stands, Master Baggins.' Thorin sat down in the other chair. It was not quite cold enough to warrant a fire – the season had been mild thus far – but he no longer lived in poverty and so had to wonder no longer about whether or not he could afford such a luxury. Even so, old habits were hard to break.

'Perhaps not quite yet.' Bilbo folded the note and put it in his pocket. 'I'll think of some answers yet for…' He pulled the list out of his pocket again to consult it. 'A Game of Dragons?'

Another overnight name change. This one too Thorin recognised as one of Kate's suggestions, which at least should please her even if nothing else about this play did. 'You have no obligation to attend,' Thorin pointed out, wishing he was similarly blessed.

According to Balin the initial plans had been promising, without even a hint at anything indecent. Apparently the playwright had waited to inject that element until the approval had been given, which made Master Orin the kind of two-faced little dragon that Thorin would be glad never to see again. To inflict him on the burglar would be cruel.

Bilbo pondered that. 'I think I should like to go, if it's all the same.' He put the list away again. 'And thank you,' he added, greatly adding to Thorin's confusion.

'What for?'

'The hospitality.' Bilbo made a wide arm gesture. 'I probably was not expected.'

Thorin had to smile. 'Neither were my company and I when we descended on your smial, Master Baggins, and yet you made us welcome.'

This made Bilbo laugh. 'You made yourselves welcome,' he pointed out. 'I was far too overwhelmed to protest much.'

'Aye, the wizard ought to have asked.' As he should have asked Kate before he took her. Thorin understood more now of the wizard's reasoning, but it remained a sore point. 'You have my apologies. We did not know.'

Bilbo shook his head before Thorin had even finished speaking. 'I came on my own, if you'll remember. And the house was restored eventually.' He thought this through. 'Although the plumbing took a while.'

It was better not to ask, so he returned to the original point. 'You shall always be assured of a welcome here, Master Baggins, planned or unannounced. We owe you a great debt, whether you agree with that or not,' he added when the hobbit geared up for a protest. 'If you wish to be here, you shall be accommodated. And, should you tire of your relatives, you would be more than welcome to make your home among us.'

'Thráin offered the same.' Bilbo stared pensively at the empty hearth.

'And he was right to do so.' Thorin had never liked knowing that he owed someone anything, but with the burglar it was different. He had no malicious bone in his body and so would never seek repayment Thorin would be unwilling to give. All things told, he had never asked for anything at all.

'Well, I shall tell you the same thing I told him,' Bilbo said. 'I am very, very honoured, but Bag End is home. And you would be welcome any time. Tea is at four.'

Walking through Erebor twenty-five years after the dragon was nothing like it had been then. The greatest difference was of course that there were so many more people about. And they were not heavily armoured warriors. They were just ordinary people going about their daily business.

And there were children. Thorin and Kate had five, although the eldest three were all but grown. But they were everywhere in the streets, promising life and laughter and all those things Bilbo suspected the dwarves hadn't had for a long time until the dragon had died.

They knew it too. More specifically, they knew that he had something to do with it, so they bowed and doffed caps and stepped aside to let him through wherever he went. In some ways he was almost used to that – his relatives had so often jumped out of his way too, if for completely different reasons – but he did not quite know what to do with it here either.

It was quite a relief to step into the library and be surrounded by books. Most of those were written in a language he did not speak, but there should be enough he could understand to provide an escape should Erebor prove just a mite too appreciative.

'Master Baggins!' Ori hailed him as the door fell shut behind him. 'How good of you to come. Would you like to come into my office?'

Bilbo liked Ori. He was one of the more faithful and regular dwarves with whom Bilbo kept up a lively correspondence. Ori's script was so good these days that there were times Bilbo forgot that he had lost his dominant hand in battle.

'I must say that it makes a nice change to speak with you again in person rather than await your correspondence,' Ori said, busying himself with pouring the tea. 'My wife would like you to know that, should you wish, you would be welcome to sup with us while you're here.'

'I saw you last night for dinner,' Bilbo reminded him. All of the company, as well as spouses and children, had crowded into Thorin and Kate's place. It had been a merry, noisy bunch and so reminiscent of that first party in Bag End that it almost felt as though no time had passed at all. Except now it was not his pantry at risk and he had enjoyed it so much more because of that.

That and the fact that he had been reunited with friends who desired his company and did not give him odd looks or called him Mad Baggins behind his back.

'Aye, and so you shall for many a night, for all the company is determined to make you welcome in turn.' Ori grinned and then reassured: 'Only if you want to of course.' He put the tea down before Bilbo. 'Now, let's see about this note you've received.'

'You received one?'

'Oh, we all did.' He held out his hand. 'May I?'

In truth, Bilbo was rather glad to be rid of it. 'What is this play?' he asked, because he hadn't been able to get much out of Thorin and Kate, other than that they really did not approve of it.

And if this list was any indication, they were probably right.

'Some retelling of the quest.' Ori shoved his glasses further up his nose and peered at the paper. 'Very fantastical and not at all accurate.' He looked at Bilbo. 'We cannot trust my brother to curb the excesses, so I must see what can be done.'

Many people underestimated Ori. They always assumed because he didn't say much, he didn't notice much either. He had a quiet manner about him that didn't let on much about the steely will he hid behind it. Bilbo wondered if the playwright had figured that out yet.

So he asked.

Ori smiled quite smugly. 'Oh, he knows. Just as I think he knows now what is and is not appropriate to show on a stage, especially since my young relatives will be attending. But if your list is any indication, I shall have to pop over there this afternoon to deliver another reminder.' He consulted the list again. 'Maker be good, that is very inappropriate. Yes, another word will be needed.'

'You know, I think Orin has been very quiet these past days,' Kate observed as her husband busied himself trying to comb her hair into submission.

'No doubt we shall regret that tonight.'

Kate considered this. 'Yes, we probably will.'

It was the night of the premiere. For two glorious weeks she had almost been able to forget it. Orin had not bothered them again and she hadn't had the time to ponder the matter, what with spending so much time with friends. Bilbo's arrival was just the excuse everyone needed to get together on a nightly basis. There was music, good conversations and shared memories. In all of that it had been easy to forget the wretched play.

Not tonight though. Not when she had to attend the bloody thing. Oh, she'd heard about the changes in names, mainly because Dori had been complaining about them at some length. It had been A Game of Dragons when Bilbo arrived, which had somehow morphed into Once Upon a Quest – another one of her suggestions – three days later, but Orin had reverted to The Quest four days after that. And so The Quest it remained, which annoyed Kate because he hadn't gone with any of her titles and Thorin because he suspected that Orin was likely to draw crowds and make a lot of money with a title like that.

'I am still more than willing to invent a last minute crisis,' Kate said, knowing full well that Thorin would not take her up on it.

'We shall bear it,' he said, predictably.

'I suppose we shall.' Kate privately resolved to keep her attention on something else, like the paperwork she needed to sort through for the upkeep of the road between Dale and Erebor. If she was very lucky it would bore her right to sleep and she'd miss most of the play that way. It was better than dying from second-hand embarrassment at any rate.

Thorin's hand brushed the back of her neck, depositing a truckload of butterflies in her stomach. 'If you keep doing that, we won't make it to the play on time,' she pointed out.

His mouth was very close to her ear when he replied: 'Is that so?'

They certainly would not have made it anywhere in time had they not been interrupted. Jack, only vaguely familiar with the concept of knocking, barged into the room at speed. 'Look, amad, I did my own hair,' he announced.

'So you have,' Kate agreed. He'd done one plait on each side and left the rest loose, suspiciously reminiscent of the style of Thorin I-can't-be-bothered-to-waste-time-on-vanities-when-there's-work-to-be-done Oakenshield. 'Well done, darling.'

'So can I come to the play?'

Ah, so that was where that had been going. 'No.' They had been over this. It wasn't that she begrudged her child a treat, it was just that she wasn't entirely sure that this treat – if that was indeed the right word for it – was going to be child-appropriate. If it turned out later that Orin had had an epiphany about what was and wasn't decent, she could always let him go and watch it at a later date.

He unleashed the puppy eyes in all their glory. 'Please, amad?'

Kate shook her head decisively. It was a mark against him that he had her eyes and saying no to Andrews grey was always heaps easier than saying no to the Durin blues. Interestingly it was the other way around for Thorin, who, quite to Kate's surprise, was notoriously bad at saying no to any of their kids. And he had a soft – softer – spot for the twins.

So Jack turned to his father. 'Adad?'

But Thorin knew very well what Orin had been getting up to these past months and so was not moved today. 'No, Jack. You heard your mother. Not today. Maybe later, should the play turn out to be any good.'

'It's probably boring,' Kate agreed. 'And long. If you'll ask me, you'll be lucky to miss it.'

'So I could go in your place?' Jack suggested slyly.

Oh, dearest, if only you knew what you were asking. 'Not today,' she told him. 'I think you'll enjoy your sleepover with Flói a lot more.'

In fact, she almost wished she could go with him. Alas, she was a queen and there were certain expectations to be met.

Now that the night was here, Bilbo was quite nervous about this whole thing. At first he had been mostly bemused about what was all happening, but at last it had truly dawned on him that somehow there was a play to honour the company. And he had been a part of that company.

It made him feel very big and very small at the same time.

'We're almost ready,' Kate announced as she came into the room. 'Thorin's dealing with some last minute paperwork and then we'll be off.' She sat down in the vacant chair. 'You all right?'

The answer to this took some thinking through. 'I don't know,' Bilbo said, because he honestly didn't. He felt well enough just spending time with his old friends. It was just that none of this other business felt quite right.

'You know you don't have to come tonight,' Kate said, not unkindly. 'If you'd rather not. You, unlike me, are under no obligation whatsoever.'

She grumbled about that, but Bilbo suspected that for all of that she fit in well. Her life suited her. To look at her now you would not say that she had ever been as out of place here as Bilbo. Most of the dwarves seemed to have forgotten that she was not born as one of them. Bilbo, whilst revered, was still in many ways an outsider.

As he seemed to be everywhere.

Kate gave him a long and hard look, as though she was trying to figure him out. 'Are you lonely?' she asked.

Bilbo stared.

So she hastened to explain: 'Not right now, I don't think. But Thráin's talked to me a bit about your relatives and there's bits and pieces in your letters. It seems – and mind you, I could be wrong – that you are living a bit of a solitary life, and not necessarily from choice. Well, and you're my friend and I worry.' She sat back with her arms crossed over her chest, daring him to contradict her.

Which Bilbo found he could not do.

Not entirely.

'I'm not alone.' Not as such; there were still relatives and people he was friendly with. Having said that, there was a… distance between them. It could hardly be put into words. It was something that could be felt rather than said. There were reservations, not from ill will, Bilbo suspected, but from misunderstandings, from having grown too far apart to understand each other.

There was nothing of that here in Erebor. Well, his dwarvish friends didn't understand everything about him, but they didn't let that hold them back from drawing him into their lives with an enthusiasm that had become somewhat unfamiliar.

Kate looked far too understanding. 'You do realise that's not actually an answer to the question, do you?'

He considered this. 'I do wonder,' he began, not quite knowing how he should end that sentence.

'About?'

So he started again. 'I do wonder if perhaps I should have made the same choice you should have made.'

'Do you?'

'You told me, if you'll remember, that you would never really belong in your old world anymore, even if you did go back, because of where you had been.' And she had been so, so sad saying it. Even now a flash of emotion crossed her face. 'And I did not think this would apply to me, but…'

Now he rather thought it did.

'So, you are lonely.'

Put like that, there was no way he could deny it. 'But Bag End is my home.' He couldn't live here. He knew that too.

Kate didn't offer him a place in Erebor, possibly because she knew that. 'It's just that Bag End is a little too empty sometimes,' she said, nodding. 'Maybe you should find someone.'

'Marry? At my age?'

'I didn't say that, did I?' She shrugged. 'Although I'd not stop you if you wanted to, if that was what made you happy. No, I was thinking maybe one of your relatives or friends. They can't all be hopeless pieces of shit like that Lobelia you keep writing me about.'

He was about to disillusion her, but she held up her hand and he stopped.

'I'm not saying you have to, you know.' She smiled at him in a way that from his relatives he would have perceived as pitying, but from her was, surprisingly, compassionate; she had grown to be wiser since their questing days. 'I'm just saying it's something you might want to think about, in due course, when you find the right hobbit for the job.'

She said no more about it, but the idea lingered in his mind long after their conversation had ended.

'Dearest sister, you are running late.' Thráin threw his arm around Duria's shoulder for the sole reason that he knew it annoyed her.

Thoren followed suit on the other side. 'She must have been cavorting with her suitor again, brother.'

The indignant squawk Duria let out in response was well worth the effort.

She shook them both off in favour of crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at them. 'I wish you stayed away longer,' she told Thráin in that well-known put-upon tone.

'You shall have me until spring,' Thráin told her, which did not make her happy. 'After that I shall accompany our burglar back and remain out of your way until…'

'The next anniversary?' Thoren suggested.

'Aye, probably.'

If anything, this made her more cross. 'It's not proper,' she declared. 'All this traipsing about. It's not proper dwarvish.'

'It can't be undwarvish if Durin the Deathless did it,' Thráin countered.

This left her without a counterargument and so he made good use of the temporary silence to make sure he got away, pulling Thoren along with him. They were down the hallway when Duria rediscovered her voice and yelled after them.

They picked up the pace until her outrage was out of earshot.

Truth be told, Thráin was rather looking forward to the performance. The burglar had let it slip that Uncle Ori had taken the playwright in hand, so it couldn't be anything scandalous. Seeing the bedtime stories of his childhood brought to life was indeed rather alluring again. He was particularly keen to find how they would do the dragon.

He suspected however that none had seen fit to tell his parents, who made their way to their seats with faces that suggested they were about to go into a meeting with Thranduil. Thráin peered around, but the elf king was nowhere in evidence. He did spot the current captain of his guard and her brother, who both nodded at him when he caught their eyes. They must have only just arrived.

'You don't have to be here, dearest,' his mother told him.

'Wouldn't miss it for all the gold under the Mountain,' he told her.

'See, amad, it's because you dropped him on his head when he was a babe,' Thoren explained, hanging on Thráin's shoulder for no reason that Thráin could decipher. 'It's made him go all funny in there. Odd notions and the like. D'you think we ought to have him seen by Elvaethor or that sister of his…?'

'Tauriel,' Thráin filled in. For one who was supposed to become King, he had a horrible head for remembering names. 'I wonder if it was not you who was dropped on the head when you were little.' He considered the very tall dwarf his brother had become. 'Which was a good long while ago.'

'Look, I can't help it if all the elves have got long, slippery names…'

Thráin grinned at him. 'Yet you recall Elvaethor's.'

'Well, he's one of our heroes, isn't he?'

'So is Tauriel,' his mother reminded him. 'And it's not such a long name.'

'I wonder what the playwright made of it,' Thráin said.

That made her laugh. 'Well, so do I. Just not enough to sit through this, but that's another matter.'

'We'll find out soon enough,' Thráin's father grumbled, vaguely indicating the stage where indeed something seemed to be happening.

Thráin grinned at him on general principal and then sat back and prepared to enjoy himself.

Every so often Thorin would look around him and know that he had been blessed far beyond his expectations. True, it was odd that this particular moment should be upon him under the current circumstances, but here it was. There was the play to be grappled with, but here were his wife and two of his sons, laughing and joking as if they had never known anything else. On days like these he could sometimes forget that life had ever been filled with so many hardships that he could not see his way to a brighter future.

Yet almost without his noticing the brighter future had snuck up on him.

He knew contentment now. Even with this wretched play about to be inflicted upon him, he knew peace.

'Adad, look it is starting.' Duria, on his right, tugged at his sleeve to get his attention. With something that was both exasperation and weariness she looked at her brothers. 'They haven't noticed.'

Many were the times he despaired of his oldest two as well, but tonight he could not find it in himself to do so. 'This is no serious matter,' he told his daughter. 'Why not let them laugh while they may?'

She had a quick answer to that: 'Because it's not dignified.'

'It's not,' he agreed. 'But there is no harm in it.' She was young still and entirely too much under her uncle's influence. 'Life is often hard, Duria.' Not so long ago survival was all he had known. 'But this, this joy and laughter, that was what we fought to achieve twenty-five years ago.' Because it had been all too rare before that. Maybe it was ordinary now, or had become so to many, but to Thorin it remained precious. All the wealth of the Mountain could not equal the value he placed on such simple things.

'No, you sought to reclaim this kingdom,' his little scholar argued.

'Aye.' He looked at her, all geared up for a good discussion, the goings-on on stage temporarily forgotten. She got that single-minded focus and a love of a good discussion from Kate, Thorin reckoned. 'We had none of those things before that time, Duria,' he told her gently. 'You take them for granted, because you have never known anything else.' She was a child born in times of peace and plenty. She never marvelled at the fact that there was food on the table or coins in her pocket. Perhaps that was why she didn't recognise this for what it was: a precious gift to be treasured and cherished.

From her face he could tell that she did not understand, though the frown in her forehead told of the efforts she made to do so regardless.

'You will understand in time,' he promised, when life itself had made her wiser.

She scoffed. 'When I am older? Now you sound like amad.'

'Don't tell her,' Thorin whispered conspiratorially. 'But your amad is quite wise.'

Judging by the deepening frown, Duria doubted that too.

Having said that, it was clear that both his wife and his sons were oblivious to the fact that the theatre was quietening down and the play was about to begin. He cut in at the end of a sentence and they did indeed all cease talking and sit back.

'Ready?' Kate whispered.

He could only answer honestly: 'No.'

'Neither am I.' But she slipped her hand in his.

And so the play began.

It opened to a scene he did not recognise from real life. There was a forge where the fictional version of him was apparently hard at work. It was, according to a helpful sign placed on the left-hand side of the stage, meant to be Bree. He did not have long to wonder what it was that Orin was meant to convey, because the mannish actress swayed onto the stage in a way Kate would never do in a thousand years.

'Someone kill me now,' muttered the real Kate.

Thankfully none did, though Thorin found himself fervently echoing her wish for the ground to swallow them up when the play embarked on its mission to make the audience believe that their King and Queen had not only fallen in love at first sight, but that they had done so in a unnecessarily verbose manner that was utterly alien to them both.

'If this is what he thought our early days were like, I wonder what he's going to do to the quest,' Kate wondered.

Thorin had a sinking feeling that he was going to find out.

He scanned the faces in the crowd and found that he was actually a minority of folk who were not enjoying themselves. Most of the people in attendance were rapt with attention, nodding in approval every once in a while. A little behind him, though, he found his company staring at the stage in murderous outrage – Óin and Nori were already in the process of restraining Dori – at this violation of truth. Some rows beyond them he found Elvaethor, who, unlike his friends, was failing to bite back his laughter.

Perhaps he has the right of that, Thorin thought, given that the effort on the stage was indeed laughable. Or would have been, if it hadn't been meant to portray his life.

Yet how could it accurately do so? The tale Orin presented to his audience was ludicrous, but only because he was not in possession of the facts. This was the tale they had told to not only explain Kate's presence, but also hide that they had not been wed when they told one and all that they were.

It was one lie, that became a bigger one and then a bigger one still, until there was no room left for the truth. As ever, the lie did not sit easy with him, especially now that it was written into history. It occurred to him that even had their hearts not changed before they entered the Mountain, they might have found themselves compelled to wed to keep up a charade.

Neither of them had thought that far ahead at the time, though Thorin wondered if perhaps Balin had. He tried to meet his eyes, but Balin's gaze was fixed upon the stage.

Once that part of the play was done – thank the Maker for small mercies – the amount of truth inserted into the play did increase. Some of their company must have answered the questions put to them with rather more detail than Thorin had answered the ones put to him, because every once in a while there was dialogue that struck a chord in his memory. The events described too bore more resemblance towards reality than the previous attempt at a play.

'One of the company must have done his homework,' Kate observed quietly after the scene with the trolls. 'And Mahal knows it wasn't us.'

'Oh, that was Uncle Ori,' Thráin piped up, ignoring the chorus of hushing sounds erupting all around him. 'He's been keeping the playwright on track.'

Thorin looked behind him and caught Ori looking at him. His brother-in-law smiled brightly with just the barest hint of satisfaction at a job well done. Thorin nodded at him in appreciation. He may not care much for Dori and Nori, but he had nothing but the deepest respect for the youngest of Kate's brothers. Had Ori let him do so, Thorin would have showered favours and riches on him. Yet Ori was content with his wife and children, his books and his library. He was no longer shy. It was true that he did not speak much, but when he did speak, folk made sure they listened.

So, it seemed, had Orin.

He sat easier after that.

'That was better than you led me to believe, amad,' Thráin said during the interval. At this point they were two hours into the play, the fictional company had just left Beorn's house and Kate's bladder had been stretched almost to breaking point. This observation of course could only be made after she had returned from relieving herself and found her two sons engaged in a detailed review of the play so far.

'It is better than I was led to believe,' she pointed out. Orin's questionnaire had not been encouraging. I've got to ask Ori what he threatened Orin with to make him behave. 'Still a bit heavy on the word vomit and a little short on some facts, but yes, altogether not as bad as I thought.'

She had even caught herself enjoying some pieces, though not that many. Yes, from an objective viewpoint she could readily admit that the acting was good, that the backdrops were well executed, with a keen eye for detail, and that, historically speaking, some research had indeed been done. All these things combined should have made for an enjoyable story.

But for one thing.

Because it was weird, properly weird. It might have been different had it been about people and events that she had no personal connection with, but it wasn't. This play was meant to depict her and her life and she couldn't shake that surreal feeling that had overtaken her as soon as the curtains went up.

She turned to her husband, who must be experiencing much of the same. 'If I ever start talking like that, feel free to knock some sense back into me.' Shakespeare had nothing on Orin. Especially when the fake Kate had declared her love for the fake Thorin in a seemingly endless monologue she had wanted to sink through the chair into the depths of the earth, never to emerge again. She suspected Thorin was right there with her when the fake Thorin made a similar monologue in response.

'Only if you promise to do likewise if I transgress in that way.'

Yep, not amused in the slightest.

'I don't know what you are complaining about,' Thoren said, shortening his life expectancy with every word that came out of his mouth. 'I thought it matched your stories really well. Apart from the excessive amounts of talking, that is.'

'Just you wait until they start making plays about you and we'll see what you think then,' Kate said.

Thoren was unfazed. 'Chance would be a fine thing. I haven't done anything like as impressive as you did and I doubt I ever shall.'

'Never say never, darling.' She ruffled his hair before he could dance out of her reach. 'But, in the interest of being honest, I shall say that had this wretched thing not been about your father and me, I might have enjoyed it.'

'So you do not enjoy it then?'

No, she did not. And there were still two hours left.

Maker help me.

It was a great relief and no mistake to leave the theatre behind.

'Well,' said Kate, 'we have survived.'

'Our lives were not in any danger,' Thorin felt obliged to point out.

'Just my sanity,' Kate muttered darkly.

Even ten years ago he would not have thanked her kindly for making light of any supposed insanity, but that shadow had not lain over him for years now and so the remark did not sting. It helped that it had not been brought up in Orin's performance at all and at first he had been baffled by it, for it had been omnipresent during the quest itself, like a snarling warg ready to pounce at any moment.

Yet his people had never known it. Of course, there had been rumours, about fathers and sons destined to share the same fate, but there was no evidence to prove that he had indeed come close and so there was now nothing in the play. Even if Orin had been so inclined, it was likely Ori who had put a stop to it before it could get off the ground.

Ori was one dwarf he would never stop owing.

And like with Bilbo, this did not fill him with unease.

'It was quite good,' Duria observed. She must have thought so indeed; she had spent most of the play on the edge of her seat. 'From all the history books I have read, I should say that the playwright stayed true to the past.'

Thráin rolled his eyes at her. 'Why would you read a history book when adad and amad were there?'

'For context,' said Duria, glaring at him.

'Well, at least it was Ori who wrote one of those books,' Kate pointed out in a conciliatory manner. 'That one ought to contain some truth at least.'

Unlike some of the others that Thorin could care to name. How anyone who had stayed warm and safe in the Iron Hills thought to write a true account of his quest was something of a mystery to him, but every few years without fail some eager young scholar would turn up trying to dedicate one of their works to him.

He had sent them all away.

They lingered outside the theatre, waiting for the rest of the company to join them, but it was Dáin who found them first.

'Thorin!' he boomed. 'What a night and what a performance!'

He would think that, Thorin thought bitterly. Orin had painted Dáin in a very flattering light indeed. He had completely failed to mention that Dáin had refused to turn up for the quest and so could paint him as the brave hero who showed up to save the besieged company from certain doom.

Thorin reckoned he could hear Kate's teeth grinding as she tried to stop herself from offering some choice remarks on that violation of truth. In the end she had limited her commentary to: 'If he's so fond of Dáin, why didn't he stay in the bloody Iron Hills?'

Thorin had wondered that himself.

Kate tried for politeness. 'I take it you liked it, then?'

Dáin had never truly warmed to Kate – and the feeling indeed was mutual – but apparently he had truly enjoyed himself, for there was not even a hint of his habitual disapproval when he replied: 'I did.' He nodded fervently in case anyone had failed to miss his sincerity. 'I thought it was a truly remarkable piece. I must admit, Thorin, you have not told the whole story when you spoke of your quest.'

'Why, would you have come on it had you known?' Kate asked sweetly.

Thráin broke out in a coughing fit that Thorin suspected was not entirely real. Duria stomped on his foot.

Dáin did not like that; he frowned at her. 'You know as well as I that it would have been a fool's errand. I had my people's lives to think of.'

Kate inexplicably kept smiling quite pleasantly. 'Whereas Thorin had no such concerns?'

Dáin's face was taking on shades of red that were not usually a great indicator of robust health. 'Well, you had no wife nor heirs to think of,' he said, addressing Thorin instead and conveniently ignoring the wife Thorin most definitely did have. 'And I had no way of knowing how it would all turn out. All things considered it was the prudent course of action.'

It was an effort almost beyond him not to give his kinsman the wallop he so rightly deserved. Here was the hinting at madness he had not found in the play. It was the kind of low suggestion that he would sooner expect from the elves than from his own kin. Yet there had always been something distinctly unpleasant about Dáin.

And because of his failure to lend his support to Thorin's quest, Thorin could never trust him.

Kate's smile slipped, but before she could tear him apart with her words, Thráin hurried to the rescue. He threw one arm over Kate's shoulder and another over Thorin's, smiling. 'Well, that's why adad is King and you are not, of course. 'Cause that what it means to be King, I reckon, to be the first in the attack and the last in the retreat, taking more risks than anyone else.'

'Wasn't that a line from one of amad's bedtime stories?' Duria asked.

'Doesn't make it any less true, though.' Thráin was still smiling brightly. 'Would you not agree, Lord Dáin?'

They would never know what Lord Dáin did or did not think, because with a face like thunder he turned around and stalked off.

'Good riddance,' said Thráin.

Thorin was wise enough to keep his agreement to himself.

It was not the play Bilbo had been nervous about. And honestly, there was nothing to be too nervous about and nothing to be too vexed about either – though he had taken a little offence at having a bare-footed dwarf child taking on the role of burglar on stage. The night of celebration two days later was however a cause for some concern.

It was official and it was dwarvish and Bilbo knew little enough about either.

'I wouldn't worry, Bilbo,' Kate told him when at last he caved to her queries as to what was causing him such anxiety. 'It's not formal at all.'

'Yes, yes, but it is official.'

'Not the same thing,' said the erstwhile advisor, settling in to bestow some more advice, since old habits died hard. 'You see, yes, it is an official holiday, but that just means that everyone is free to celebrate. You're among dwarves now, Bilbo. We don't do formal very well.'

Bilbo privately disagreed, but since it seemed that he would not be able to make her understand, he said no more about it.

And despite all Kate's assurances to the contrary, the first part of the evening would very much be official. Ori had explained it, the memorial they observed each year to honour those who had made the journey to Erebor, but who had not lived to see it restored.

It was a surprisingly thoughtful gesture from dwarves who would not know tact if it was right up in their faces yelling at them like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

'Ready?' asked Kate on the night itself as they were about to leave the house.

'Yes,' said Bilbo, meaning no.

'Good.'

The change in mood was rather stark, Bilbo observed. The dwarves had been boisterous and loud and everything dwarves usually were, but now they were quiet and solemn and uncharacteristically subdued. It was catching too; Bilbo's own nervousness melted away to be replaced by something he thought might be grief as he realised just what they were really doing.

In the Shire he wasn't reminded every single day that Bifur and Kíli had died. Erebor was a long way away and he preferred to think of his living friends enjoying all that they so richly deserved. Oh, he never forgot. He couldn't, but he preferred to dwell on happier memories of Bifur's quiet kindness and Kíli's infectious laugher. He did not like to remember their deaths at all.

And now there was no avoiding it.

The tombs had been constructed well, because no dwarf would ever build something that couldn't survive a battle between giants and the potential end of the world. Statues had been carved in the likeness of the deceased, which Bilbo found oddly disconcerting. It wasn't done among his own people.

'What do I do?' he whispered at Ori, since this did not feel like the place where raised voices were appropriate.

'Whatever you wish,' Ori answered, which didn't help Bilbo in the slightest.

The company gathered round. Kate gently squeezed his arm and Thorin nodded at him in a way that Bilbo suspected was probably meant to be reassuring.

Someone had been in this place before the company gathered. Candles had been lit and the lack of dust suggested that it had all been given a good clean too. If he sniffed a bit he fancied he could smell soap.

For a while they all stood, heads bowed, solemn and silent, even the ones like Nori, who usually were all noise and movement. It was respect, Bilbo understood, for ones who were always in motion to stop to remember. So he stood and remembered with them. He remembered Bifur and the way he would quietly and without fuss take care of chores. He remembered the smiles and nods in encouragement when the journey was hard. He also remembered Kíli and that wretched silly game he liked to play and that horrible song of Kate's he'd like to sing until everyone got sick of it.

Bilbo remembered too the death of the dragon and the one who achieved it. For just a moment he was back under the empty Mountain, in that strange place beyond terror, offering riddles to a creature that would eat him as soon as look at him, wondering all the while what in the name of sanity he, home-loving Bilbo Baggins, thought he was doing.

Standing here, he knew. He had been there when legends had been born, when all the great stories folk liked to tell around a winter's fire had burst into life, blazing bright. There was the Queen who had risked her life communicating in sign language only her future husband seemed to understand. Next to her was the King who had risked his in drawing the dragon's attention and his fiery ire. Not here was the bright young dwarf whose nerve and aim had never failed him.

And suddenly he knew exactly what he needed to say: 'You all know that we hobbits don't really value bravery and strength of arms,' he began, wondering now as he had then whether he should speak at all. 'But my people only live in peace because folk like Kíli – and Bifur – go out into the world to fight the evil that is in it.' He took a deep breath and, when no outrage or interruptions seemed to be forthcoming, continued: 'It's folk like them who make places like the Shire possible.' It also made people like Lobelia possible, who never had worried herself over something worse than her collection of ill-gotten spoons. It seemed prudent not to mention that just now. 'So, what I really wanted to say was… well, thank you.' He nodded at both tombs as though the occupants could hear him, which Bilbo was reasonably sure they could not.

Yet he felt better for having done so.

Some of the others spoke. Bofur told a story about Bifur, Dwalin shared one about Kíli. Others spoke of loss and pride and achievement. Bilbo stood and listened. In some strange way he felt more like he was part of them now than he had ever before. In this place of death they were a company again, all souls who had faced the same trials together. In this place Bilbo felt like he at long last belonged. They shared a connection none could ever share with them.

Was that why he had so often felt adrift and lost among his own?

His friends did not allow him to dwell on it. Their ceremony concluded and they filed out into the hallway. As they did, the sorrow abandoned them and, somewhat to Bilbo's surprise, Fíli was the first to shake it off and exchange misery for mirth.

'Dearest burglar,' he began, 'have you given any thought to your dancing this evening?'

Bilbo drew himself up to his full height, which didn't mean much among dwarves. 'I can dance.' Hobbits loved parties and no party would be complete without music and dancing. Having said that, the dwarves might do it all differently. He pointed that out too.

'Ah, Master Burglar,' said Bofur, straightening his hat as he spoke, 'I would not worry about that. After all, you are one of us, so your ways can be our ways.'

Bilbo doubted that, though he did not say that either. And perhaps Bofur was wiser than Bilbo had given him credit for, for throughout the night he sang and danced and laughed. He learned a dance from Fili's wife Síf, he taught one of his own to Bombur and his wife Dara. He told stories to scores of wide-eyed youngsters and was treated to many tales in return. He joked with Kate and conversed with Balin.

And just for a few golden hours, he fit in perfectly.

Thank you very much for reading. I'll be busy for a bit, but I'll be back hopefully late October/early November. Until then, feedback, thoughts and ideas would be more than welcome, so please leave a review if you have a moment.

Until next time!