Bilbo awoke in a groggy haze, not quite sure where he was. His last memories were of barrels and dwarves and the rushing water. His aches and pains provided proof that he was still alive. As he blinked up at what appeared to be cobwebs across a wood ceiling, he only knew that he was pinned between two large snoring masses, really hot, and soaking wet. Throwing an elbow caused a grunt from one of the masses as Bilbo began squirming from under linen sheets.
"Oi, hold your horses, we'll move!" Fili groaned, rolling to the side while pulling the sheet with him, revealing Kili on the other side still snoring. Bilbo looked down to find that while he was still in his clothes, they had been soaked through into the bedding below.
Can I get some water," his voice croaked out, dry from disuse.
"Aye, one minute," Fili shuffled over to a table in the center of the room that had a pitcher and cups waiting on it. Looking around he could see that they were in some sort of lodging. The bed sat next to a roaring fire in the middle of the room, while from what he could see the other beds were empty. Daylight shined in from the large windows over the other beds and he could hear chatter from below.
"Here you go," A small cup was placed in his hand. He took a small sip before a ragged cough racked his chest. Next to him Kili turned over to pat him on the back as his brother steadied the water.
"Where are we?" Bilbo wheezed trying to pull the air back into his lungs. He was grateful that his ribcage no longer felt broken, but he couldn't fathom how weak he'd gotten as he leaned back against the headboard.
"We're in Lake Town, we've been here a little over a day, you've been out for two days."
"WHAT?!" He sat bolt upright.
"Relax, you didn't miss anything. But we need you to get better, we can't be having our burglar turning into roast beef if he coughs in the middle of Erebor." Kili laughed, easily pushing Bilbo back down to rest against the headboard. He then joined in sitting back on Bilbo's empty side with Fili propping himself up on the other.
"Roast beef has more meat on it that's for sure. But we've been tasked with making sure you don't get out of bed as well as keeping you fed. Did those elves starve you?"
"No, King Thranduil served me dinner every night." Bilbo hedged, knowing that a majority of his meals had gone into the sack he'd brought his dwarves.
"Wait, you ate your meals with the elf king? Every night?"
"Well yeah. Occasionally his son would join us, but that was rare. He was alittle odd, never saw him blink." Bilbo yawned, relaxing by the firelight.
"Uhhhuh, never knew you were so into rubbing elbows with royalty." Fili rolled his eyes.
"Well, it just worked out that way," He shrugged, taking another sip of his water. "So if I'm not aloud out of bed, and you two are charged with keeping me company, what should we talk about?"
"How about you tell us, at what age do hobbit marry?" Bilbo jolted and spat out water over the covers.
"It's a good thing that was already damp," Kili drawled, getting out of bed to fetch a different blanket from another bed, shoving the other to the floor.
"Um, why do you ask?"
"Curiosity, we know next to nothing about hobbits, how long do you all usually live? What age do you marry? Are hobbit families usually larger or smaller? You know, those sorts of things." Fili looked down at him innocently. He couldn't fault them for being curious, dwarves and hobbits were very different beings.
"Well, well a thirty-third birthday is when a hobbit celebrates entering adulthood. We often live to over a hundred, and yes hobbit families tend to be large. Most families in the shire are related in some way, even if it's been many generations since those tree branches touched. My gran is the current matriarch and in charge of arranging marriages to keep bloodlines from getting too close. Shes one hundred and thirteen."
"Very interesting, and how old are you? When is your birthday?"
"I'm fifty, I was born on September twenty-second." Bilbo closed his eyes, already knowing their next question as it was the same one he was always asked when revealing his age.
"So you're a middle-aged hobbit, why are you not already married?"
Bilbo sighed, contemplating how to answer this question. When he was fifty the first time around, he hadn't found anyone in the shire all that attractive despite his grandmother's urgings to marry. After his journey, the thought of taking a mate had filled him with longing for the one he couldn't have. This time, he'd happily stay a bachelor just to keep Thorin alive.
"I… loved someone once, when they died it ripped my heart out so badly, I didn't think I could ever heal. Hobbit couples tend to have subtle secret courtships followed by the pair disappearing for several months to get married. I returned with no one, so no one would have had me even if I had gotten over my grief to want another."
They both had the decency to hide their sympathy, nodding along to the story before Kili asked, "Do hobbits only mate once in their lifetime then?"
"Depends on the hobbit, but for the most part no. We tend to look for joy and happiness for ourselves and our families and try not to dwell on the dark. That includes mourning; we throw large parties for our dead. After some time, most hobbits are willing to remarry."
"Weird, dwarves only have one mate in our lives." Fili shrugged, his thoughts seeming far off. Kili instead asked several questions about hobbit parties and favorite foods, keeping Bilbo distracted between coughing fits. Bilbo returned the favor, asking about their mother Dis as well as where they grew up and their favorite foods. Hours passed in idle conversation, with the sky darkening outside. The boys had taken turns fetching soups and water for him, and occasionally one of the others would slip in to check on him.
"Bilbo, would you say you're into taller folk?"
The question caught him off guard, "In what context?"
"Well, if you had to pick a mate, would they be taller or shorter than you?" Kili had moved into a chair beside the bed to sharpen a knife, while Fili was sorting small stones and bits of metal ore on the end of the bed. Neither of them looked at the hobbit.
"Um, taller I suppose." Remembering Thorin staring down at him during their bath, his face began to heat of its own accord.
"Like man? Or taller still the lanky elves?"
"No… not that tall."
"Mhmm," Kili hummed, the even tempo of the blade meeting stone drawing out the sound.
"And, say, if you were to pick a mate," Fili picked up a large stone to eye in the firelight, "Would you prefer male or female?"
Bilbo stared at both until the silence drew their gazes. Looking them dead in the eye…
"Sorry boys, you flatter me, but I'm not interested."
Fili promptly fell off of the bed, Kili sliced his thumb, both of them repeating, "No No No, that's not- we don't mean-"
Thorin and Dwalin walked in to find Bilbo rolling with laughter, both nephews beet-red, Kili sucking on his thumb.
"Well, you seem to be feeling better," Thorin approached the bed.
"Indeed, ready to go, when do we leave?" Bilbo sat up, turning to try and get up from the bed. Thorin gently pushed him back down to the pillows, eliciting a glare from him. He would say he let the King if anyone asked, but in truth his strength had been sapped from him from simply sitting up.
"We will leave in a few days, so you have enough time recoup." Thorin's tone was clipped as he turned away, leaving the room with Dwalin. Leaving Bilbo feeling very cold despite the fire.
Late in the night, the others slept deeply as Bilbo lay alone in his bed. The company had brought up a large meal from the kitchens below and the group had feasted over their lucky escape from the dungeons of the elves. Many toasts had been drunk for Bilbo, and they had piled helpings of meat pies and breads and cheeses until he thought he might explode. The doctor had stopped by to check on him and had given him a draught of sickly-sweet medicine for his cough. Oin had complained, citing that he had something much better, and then had Bilbo take not one, but two shots of a fiery whisky that had resulted in another coughing fit.
After a few hours of revelry, the company had gone to bed piling up two or three per bed. Thorin had taken the couch. While his stand-offish behavior had thrown Bilbo into confusion, he had soon remembered that they hadn't had a real conversation since their fight nearly three weeks ago. Now he didn't know how to break the awkwardness that had grown in the rift. He could only hope that they would have a chance to speak before they confronted Smaug.
For now, he had a job to do. Slipping from his bedding, Bilbo padded across the room to the pile of cloaks that had accumulated on top of a vacant chair. Slipping his hand into one of the pockets of his now-ruined coat, he pulled out a small leather bag with a long string that he hung around his neck under his shirt. Securing one of the cloaks to his shoulders and gently pushing open the room's only door, he made his way down the stairs and out of the building in near silence. The streets were fogged over, the air frigid with not a soul in sight. It smelled like fish, moisture, and rot, and he could hear the lapping water underneath the wooden boards that made up the walkways.
Looking around, he didn't recognize where he was but knew that Lake Town was only so big, and so set off like a ghost into the night. Streetlamps flickered above him as he searched for something familiar, and the occasional guard passing his shadow as he ducked behind a barrel or corner. Eventually he spotted what he was looking for, a small home tucked into the corner with a boat docked beside it.
Tiptoeing up to the front door, he knocked gently listening for footsteps on the other side. It didn't take long before a large man with dark hair and beard cracked open the door to pear out into the night.
"Um, down here," Bilbo gently coughed into his fist, drawing Bard's attention down to him. "Might I come in?"
"What business do you have with me?"
"Well I might need you to slay a dragon," This seemed to shock the man as he cracked the door open wider to let the hobbit in. Locking the door behind him, Bilbo was relieved to see Bard tuck the dagger back into his belt that he'd been holding behind the door.
"Are you a Dwarf?"
"Luckily no, but I am travelling with a company of them. Our aim is to reach Erebor before Durin's day."
Anger flashed over Bard's face, his fists clenching at his sides. "And what do you seek from me?"
Bilbo sighed, walking into the kitchen to take a seat at his table. Bard followed taking a stiff seat across from his unwelcome guest. The house was exactly the same as the last time Bilbo had seen it, only missing the three children sleeping upstairs. Despite its age, it still felt warm and loved. Bilbo only prayed that Bard listened to him so that he might protect this place and the rest of Lake Town.
"I need you to slay a dragon. The dragon Smaug to be exact. I know you are a descendant of Dale, and I also know you have the arrow whose foraged purpose was to slay dragons. I simply need you to not miss." Bilbo watched shock and fear join the anger as the man contemplate his words. He knew that it was quite late at night to throw this at someone, but it was now or never, and he'd rather not watch the town burn like before.
"If you know all this, then you must know that my ancestors shot their arrow, and it ricocheted off the dragon with no injury. There is nothing here than can kill it, and your dwarven friends are going to call fire down on us." The agitated man slammed his palm down on the table for emphasis, standing to begin to pace the kitchen, "I must tell the Master of this plot, he will prevent your group from entering the mountain." He mumbled his counter plan as Bilbo waited patiently. It didn't take long for Bard to come to the realization, turning to glare down at him. "They've been to the Master havn't they? And what, likely bribed him with the riches of Erebor to secure passage to the mountain…"
"Indeed, now will you listen to my plan?" Bard rubbed his eyes in annoyance before taking his seat once again. "Now, your ancestors didn't miss. They chipped away the protective scale over the dragon's heart and that will be where I need you to aim. It's small, but I know you can do it."
"And how, may I ask, did you come to know this information?"
"Because I have seen you do it before, Bard, The Bowman of Lake Town and the future King of Dale." This caused Bard to laugh for a good five minutes straight.
"Who put you up to this," he asked once he'd regained his composure, whipping tears from his eyes. Bilbo was rolling his, about ready to trash this plan as he was losing his patience.
" No one has put me up to anything; and I am not here to convince you. I'm simply warning you of what is to come. I will attempt to not wake Smaug, and with any luck nothing will come of it, and you will not need to loose that arrow. But I cannot in good conscience let this city burn again. I also need to warn you about the orcs-"
"Wait," Bard's attention singled in on Bilbo, "How do you know about the orcs?"
"You've seen them?"
"Aye, there were orc scouts along the river between Lake Town and Mirkwood. Are you saying there will be more?"
"I'm afraid so. You'll need to gather the men of Lake Town; the two Orc armies of Dol Guldur and Gundabad will be arriving in less than a month from Durin's day." Bilbo solemnly went into detail on what occurred the last time Bard had slayed the dragon, the confrontation with the dwarves, and the battle of five armies. He glossed over how he had come to be from their future, but didn't dive too deep into the particulars. By the end of his tale Bard had laid his head in his hands. "I know it seems impossible, but you must believe me."
"And why tell me all this; your tale painted us as enemies, your dwarves versus my men. Why not let us burn to the ground? The mountain would keep you safe from the orcs."
"You are a good man; I've seen your kindness and leadership. Thorin is a great leader and King, I will protect him with my life. But even greatness needs allies. You are one that I hope to garner for him. I am not in anyway selfless in this, I have my motives, but I also cried when I learned of your death." He shrugged helplessly," I cannot say we were ever friends, but maybe this time we might be."
"Then might I ask for a boon, in return for me as an ally?" Bard finally looked up, meeting Bilbo's gaze with steely reserve.
His meeting with Bard hadn't lasted longer than an hour, and he was pleased to see that it was still dark when he left with many more hours until morning. Slipping through the fog, he began to make his way back to the inn.
A hand reached from the darkened alleyway to grab Bilbo's arm, pulling him into the shadows to push him up against the building's wall with a hand over his mouth as he cried out.
"Silence," The gruff voice vibrated through Bilbos body in recognition, while he both relaxed in recognition as well as stiffened in indignation.
Grabbing the hand away from his mouth, Bilbo hissed, "What do you think you're doing?"
Thorin's grip on his arm tightened, his other hand pressing against the wall just above Bilbo's head. He leaned in close, his breath warm and steady against Bilbo's cheek. "I could ask you the same question. Do you make it a habit to visit men in the dead of night?"
"That's none of your business," Bilbo snapped, struggling to break free. Thorin didn't budge, his broad frame blocking every escape route.
"It is my business," The dwarf growled, low and fervent. "You are my business."
The words struck like a physical force, and Bilbo's gaze darted upward, meeting Thorin's shadowed face. Something flickered in his eyes—dark, fiery, and unyielding. Before he could process it, Thorin released his arm. The shift was brief. The hand sliding up to the nape of Bilbo's neck, Thorin's fingers brushing his skin with deliberate pressure. Their breaths mingled in the confined space, fast and uneven, matching the wild rhythm of Bilbo's heartbeat.
"Thori—" He started, but the words died on his lips as Thorin tightened his hold, his hand threading into blonde curls. With a rough pull, the distance closed, and his lips captured Bilbo's which silenced every protest.
The kiss was rough and consuming, a clash of tension and fire. Thorin's lips pressed hard against Bilbo's, demanding and unyielding. His fingers tightened in Bilbo's hair, pulling him closer as if trying to erase the space between them. Bilbo's back scraped against the wood paneling of the wall, the cold and rough surface a sharp contrast to the searing heat of Thorin's mouth. He was lost, unsure what to do in the haze of passion. As if feeling his hesitation, Thorin's hand on his neck shifted, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin just below his ear. The touch sent a jolt through the hobbit, setting his nerves alight even as he tried to give into the feeling. Bilbo's hands hovered uncertainly in the space between them before coming to rest against Thorin's chest. He tilted his head slightly, gasping at the new pressure building inside. Taking it as invitation, Thorin slipped his tongue between Bilbo's lips, deepening the kiss and stealing the very breath from his body. Every nerve ending was ablaze with new sensations, feeling consumed, electricity sparking through him at every point their bodies touched.
Bilbo's legs felt weak as Thorin softened his grip, easing away from the kiss to rest his forehead on Bilbo's while his thumb brushing against a beardless jaw. For a moment, the world beyond the alley faded into nothing—no noise, no cold wind. Just them. He could feel the rapid thrum of Thorin's heart beneath his palm, mirroring his own.
Thorin's voice was low, rough with something unspoken. "You drive me insane; you know that?"
Bilbo blinked up at him, breathless and torn between frustration and something far more dangerous. "And this is how you deal with it? By ambushing me in an alley?"
The king's lips quirked into a wry smile, though his expression still held an edge of intensity. "You weren't exactly making it easy to talk to you."
"Neither were you; you could have talked to me at the inn." Bilbo retorted, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
He chuckled softly in response, the sound vibrating between them. "Where's the fun in that?"
The teasing glint in his eyes faded as his fingers lingered against Bilbo's skin, trailing down to rest lightly on his collar. "Why were you there?" he asked, quieter now. The question carried weight, the earlier tension slipping into something deeper. "In that man's house. Why?"
Bilbo looked away, the intimacy of the moment suddenly feeling too much. But Thorin's hand tilted his chin back, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"It's not what you think," Bilbo murmured, his voice barely audible. "But I cannot tell you."
"Why not?" Thorin pressed, his tone steady but unrelenting.
For a long moment, Bilbo said nothing, caught in the storm of Thorin's gaze. Finally, he sighed. "You need to know, I will never lie to you; but you must trust me when I tell you that I cannot share some things, and this is one of those things."
Their gazes held for several moments, the silence deafening. Finally, Thorin nodded, his thumb grazed Bilbo's jaw, a surprisingly tender gesture. "Then I will not pry. If you have earned nothing else, know that you have my trust entirely."