Backs To The Wall

Credit to Conkers

Summary:

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield could no longer be described as a 'merry gathering'.

Bilbo Baggins sat at the edge of the campfire, hugging his knees to his chest, and looked just as dejected as the others surrounding the warm, flickering flames. The woodland river was a little way behind where they had set up camp, not close enough to see, but close enough for hobbit ears at least to pick out the rushing and burbling of water. They were on the edge of Mirkwood now, the Elvenking's Halls a full day of travel behind them, and were about to start crossing the Long Marshes.

At least, that had been the plan. Bilbo was no longer certain what was going to happen.

***

Or: Bilbo and the company don't make it to Erebor in time for Durin's Day, and decide to wait a year for a second chance to enter the mountain

     Chapter One:

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield could no longer be described as a 'merry gathering'.

Bilbo Baggins sat at the edge of the campfire, hugging his knees to his chest, and looked just as dejected as the others surrounding the warm, flickering flames. The woodland river was a little way behind where they had set up camp, not close enough to see, but close enough for hobbit ears at least to pick out the rushing and burbling of water. They were on the edge of Mirkwood now, the Elvenking's Halls a full day of travel behind them, and were about to start crossing the Long Marshes.

At least, that had been the plan. Bilbo was no longer certain what was going to happen. For all their months of hard travel, all the danger and fighting, all the close calls, they had been caught in the woodland realm by King Thranduil, and held captive. They might be there still had Gandalf not returned to them, furious to find the whole company thus. He had demanded that the Elvenking release them immediately, for they had done nothing to warrant such treatment, and his anger had shaken the halls like a thunderstorm.

Bilbo knew that many were intimidated by the wizard - he had been too, at first- so it was not all that surprising when King Thranduil grudgingly gave the company back their freedom, though with a warning to keep from his realm in future. Everyone had been elated to see Gandalf, and to finally be released. It wasn't that they had been treated poorly at all, and they were well fed at least, but a prison cell was still a prison cell when all was said and done.

It had only been Thorin who had not seemed happy at first, and only Bilbo who had apparently noticed it until they had been escorted out of the Elvenking's Halls. They had been given rations, and all their gear and weapons were returned, and two scouts had pointed them towards the woodland river, telling them to follow it until they reached the marshes. They had been warned, in no uncertain terms, that they were being watched, something that made all the dwarrow scowl and mutter angrily, again, except for Thorin.

Bilbo had taken in the dwarf king then, his grim, set featured, his stiff shoulders and tense frame. He had not spoken since they had been released, and once the scouts had finished their warnings, he turned and walked stiffly away.

Bilbo's heart sank as he realised he had lost count of the days. It had been hard to even know what time it was, underground and without natural sunlight as they had been. It all looked the same to Bilbo, no matter when he slept or woke, and he had slept a lot for those first few weeks, exhausted from the many months of travel and danger. It got to the point that when the guards had brought food he couldn't tell if it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Now though, he realised that at least one of their number had been keeping count somehow.

Bilbo opened his mouth to call out to Thorin, to ask, to check at least if his hunch was right. A million questions fluttered through his mind at the implications, but before he had even finished drawing breath, a large hand fell on his shoulder to stop him. He looked and saw Dwalin, face serious, and eyes sadder than he had ever seen them. The large dwarf only shook his head, turning his gaze to Thorin's back as the king continued to stomp through the forest towards the river.

Bilbo frowned and looked at the others as they passed, the younger ones of the company excited and happy to be free of their prison cells, the older simply following where Thorin led. Balin caught his eye as he passed, his own expression just as sad as his brother, and now at the back of the group, Bilbo watched with a heavy heart as he realised how many of them didn't realise.

They had missed Durin's Day.

Now here they sat in the flickering darkness, the news having been dropped at last by Balin. Silence had fallen, deep and abiding dejection had set in, and it seemed everyone was waiting for Thorin to speak. So far he had yet to say a single word, his eyes distant and brow furrowed. Still, it was Kili who broke the long silence at last, seated between Bilbo and Fili, almost opposite his uncle.

"So that's it then?" the young dwarrow sounded like he might cry. "Are we just giving up?"

Again, everyone looked to Thorin, but he didn't so much as blink. There was no sign that he had even heard his nephew speak. Over his own disappointment and worries for the future, Bilbo couldn't help feeling a surge of empathy for their leader. It was crushing for everyone, of course it was, but Bilbo could only imagine how Thorin must feel - to have come so close and missed his chance would be galling enough, but the manner of it must have been eating him alive.

Bilbo had travelled with them all long enough to know the hatred the dwarrow all held for elves, and Thranduil in particular. A part of the hobbit was glad that Thorin seemed in such a deep trance, or he might truly have tried to kill the Elvenking with his bare hands.

"Uncle?" pressed Kili, more than a little desperately.

Bilbo couldn't stand to see his young friend suffer so, and reached out to touch his arm comfortingly. He flinched when Kili snatched away from his hand and rounded on him angrily.

"And you!" he snarled at Bilbo. "Some burglar you are! What good were y-!"

"Kili!" Thorin snapped at last, interrupting the furious tirade of his nephew. "Enough!"

Bilbo didn't look at anyone, he just went back to hugging his knees and staring into the fire. He knew Kili didn't mean it, he was just lashing out. Still, it stung, and Bilbo wondered dully how many of the company felt he should have tried harder to get them out. Somehow.

"This was my fault," Thorin's deep voice was pained, but steady. "I have failed you all."

There was a ripple of dissent at that, followed by more silence. Bilbo wanted to speak up, wanted to tell Thorin that it wasn't true, that none of them would have made it this far without his determination. He wanted to tell him that none of this could possibly be his fault, but the words sat unspoken like a stone in the back of his throat.

"I cannot tell any of you how to proceed any longer," Thorin continued at length. "You must each decide for yourselves what path you wish to take. For my part, I mean to stay in Esgaroth and pass the year until next Durin's Day, but I expect nothing further from any one of you. You have already done far more than I deserve."

Bilbo might have scoffed at such foolishness, the very idea that the rest of the company weren't going to follow Thorin to the ends of Middle Earth a ludicrous one, but there were yet more cries of outrage from around the camp stating exactly that sentiment. Bilbo held his peace, and waited, hoping against hope that Thorin might at least take some comfort in their loyalty, for all the bleakness of the situation.

"We will stay with you!" cried Dori.

"Aye!" agreed Gloin. "We have waited this long to take back Erebor, what's one more year?"

A chorus of agreement met with this, and Bilbo risked a peek up at the dwarrow. Thorin still looked so broken and sad, but there was warmth in his eyes at last as he looked between his kin.

"You honour me," Thorin rumbled, placing his hand over his heart. "But we cannot all stay in the settlement of the men. If you truly mean to stay and try once again next year, then I would urge you to head towards the Iron Hills. You will find a place with my cousin there while we wait. I will stay by the mountain, however. I will not leave it now."

"I will stay with you," Dwalin told him firmly, and Thorin nodded his assent.

"And us!" said Fili, slapping his brother on the back.

"No," Thorin shook his head this time. "If you do not wish to return to the Blue Mountains and the care of your mother, then you will go to Dain."

"Uncle!" Kili protested immediately, but Thorin held up his hand for silence.

"If you choose to go to Dain, you will go as my emissaries. Balin will go with you as an advisor, along with the rest of the company who wish to rejoin the quest next Durin's Day."

Balin bowed slightly in agreement, and there were no further arguments from the two boys.

"We won't let you down, Uncle," said Fili earnestly, and the smallest smile kicked up at the corner of Thorin's mouth.

"I know."

There was another silence, before Gandalf finally spoke from under the deep shade of his hat. "I will also go to the Iron Hills. I have seen much to disturb me in the weeks since we parted ways, and it is imperative that I speak with Lord Dain as soon as may be."

Thorin frowned deeply at this, and his gaze suddenly flicked across to Bilbo for the first time. The hobbit felt his face heat up and silently cursed himself for the foolish reaction, but Thorin's eyes didn't linger, at least.

"But what of Master Baggins? Will you not escort him home first?"

Bilbo sat up straight at that, eyes wide as he looked in surprise between the wizard and the dwarf. What nonsense was this?

"I'm not going home," Bilbo heard himself say. "If you all mean to stay, then I will too."

Thorin looked at him again, an odd expression on his face. It was some sort of mixture between exasperation, concern, and fondness that made Bilbo's insides squirm.

"I mean no offence, but you would not be welcomed in the Iron Hills," Thorin explained. "You have done much already for us, and I would see you safely returned to the Shire for your efforts."

Bilbo tried not to be offended, he really did. He knew Thorin meant it kindly, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being packed off for being so utterly useless to them in the Woodland Realm. He kept going over and over it in his head, trying to retrace his actions to see if there was any way he might have done something differently, and given them a better outcome. Nothing came.

This, though? Waiting around for a year? He could do that.

"I'm not going back until we've succeeded, Thorin," he said firmly, setting his shoulders. "I made you a promise, and I mean to keep it. If I can't wait with the others, then I'll just stay with you and Dwalin."

"It will not be pleasant," Thorin warned immediately. "We will have to work for a living to keep ourselves fed and sheltered, and the world of men... it can be cruel."

Bilbo couldn't suppress the scoff this time, tossing his head back slightly as he did so. "And just what part about this journey has been pleasant? Rivendell was nice, of course, and staying with Beorn, but aside from that I'd say it's been downright inhospitable. I'm sure I can manage a village of fishermen, thank you kindly."

Thorin's eyes had turned impossibly warm as he looked back at him from across the fire, and Bilbo tried his hardest not to flush. It was to little avail when he realised all the company were staring at him then, fond disbelief on their faces, some of them chuckling quietly as if he'd just done something quite extraordinary. It made him a little uncomfortable that they might still doubt him so, even after all this time.

"I will need to send a letter back to the Shire though, just to keep anyone from worrying too much," he lowered his gaze uncomfortably. "Don't want them declaring me dead and selling off my home, that would be a tragic end to all this, really."

"I will see to it," assured Gandalf with a small, pleased smile as he looked back at the hobbit he had practically shoved out the door to be here in the first place. "I will come with you to Lake Town, where you may write your letter, and I shall make sure it gets back to the Thain before any such tragedy occurs, my friend."

Bilbo nodded his thanks, then jumped a little as Nori elbowed him good naturedly from his left. "I'm coming to Lake Town, too. Can't leave poor Bilbo with you two, he'll have no one to talk to!"

"Nori," warned Dwalin, but he was waved aside with a big smile.

"Now now, don't get in a pet about it," Nori said airily. "You know very well it won't hurt to have a pair of eyes and ears watching your backs. Information is a powerful weapon, and I'm much more confident in the world of men than any of you."

There was another long silence, and oddly enough, Thorin seemed to be waiting on some sort of signal from Dwalin before passing judgement. Dwalin grunted quietly, and Thorin nodded his agreement. Bilbo couldn't help but feel relieved that Nori would be there. He got along with all of the company, of course, cared deeply for each of them, but Nori was much chattier than Thorin and Dwalin put together. Plus, he wasn't sure how either of them would cope with Bilbo's own chatter if there was no one else he might converse with. Chances were high they would have all irritated each other to death before the year was up without some sort of buffer.

Bilbo turned and smiled at Nori happily. "I'm glad. Perhaps you might teach me how to pick a lock so I'm not quite so useless in future."

He had meant it as a joke, an attempt to let Kili know he wasn't cross and hoped the young prince might not be, in turn. He would hate to part on bad terms with the boy, even if only temporarily.

"I can, at that!" Nori laughed easily. "Though I will say I've been picking locks much longer than you've probably been alive, and even I couldn't get those cell doors open. There was little anyone could do."

Bilbo felt this last wasn't meant for him, and immediately regretted bringing it up at all. He hoped Kili wouldn't be even more annoyed with him at this perceived reprimand, and was deeply relieved when the dark head of the young prince lay gently on his shoulder.

"Sorry Bilbo."

"There there," he shushed, putting his arm around Kili's shoulders and giving him a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "I'm sorry, too."

They stayed that way for a long while, the company falling into silence once again. Bilbo absently hummed a lullaby as he stared at nothing and thought about the future. A reprieve, then. It wasn't ideal, but it did give him a little extra time to hone some much lacking skills. It would be good if he was going to face a dragon if he wasn't so utterly hopeless at everything the company needed him for, after all.

When he finished the lullaby, he looked up and found Thorin staring at him from across the fire. No sooner had their gazes met did the dwarf look away, and Bilbo felt a little bereft.

Yes. A reprieve would be good.

   Chap 2

  The next morning saw Bilbo standing in the shallows of the woodland river at dawn, the water just below his knees as he bent, hands submerged and steady. The air was chilly, but the river wasn't nearly as icy as he might have expected, and he vaguely wondered if that had something to do with the elves and their magic.

He hadn't slept well. It was strange to think he might miss the security of an elven prison cell, but he hadn't been able to relax out under the open sky again. He knew he would get used to it as he had when their journey had begun, but it would take a little time. Hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with it for very much longer as they would be in Lake Town before too long.

He saw the silver flash of a fish getting closer and closer to where his hands waited, and remained as still as possible. It wasn't often Bilbo was able to help with such things as everyone always pulled together so well, and he was always something of an outsider when it came to these tasks. Everyone had their specialities within the camp, and the hobbit more often than not just pitched in as an extra pair of hands when needed.

In truth, they had been given a great deal of supplies from the elves, so he didn't really need to be out here at all, except he had noticed Thorin flatly refusing to touch the food yesterday. He had a pretty strong suspicion that the dwarf's pride wasn't going to let him accept any help from King Thranduil, including rations. Bilbo wasn't about to watch Thorin starve himself, and so here he was in the early morning mist and chill, willingly standing in a river. Fishing.

The fish he had been watching got close enough at last, and his patience rewarded, Bilbo snapped the creature up with a skill he had learnt in childhood. The fish wriggled, and he held it firmly, shushing comfortingly without even realising he was doing it. There was a large flat rock beside him where the rest of his catch was laid out in a wide bowl beside Sting. He picked up the short, elven sword, holding the fish to the flat rock firmly, and with quick precision, pierced the blade down through the top of its head to put it out of its misery. He sighed and replaced both the fish and the sword, before rinsing his hands and turning to wade back out again.

"You should not be out here alone, Master Baggins," Thorin's voice came from the riverbank, and Bilbo turned quickly in surprise.

Sure enough, the dwarf stood on the pebbled shore of the river, solid and impressive as ever. He had left his fur-lined surcoat behind, but otherwise was dressed, ready to start the day, armed and booted, with no trace of fatigue on his handsome features. Oh, and he was definitely handsome. Bilbo tried not to think about it too often, nor even to admit it in the privacy of his own mind in case it should grow legs and run away with him, but some times were harder than others. Now, for instance, with his hair loose and soft about his broad shoulders, his eyes fixed upon Bilbo unblinkingly, and the rising sun highlighting the plains of his face...

"Good morning," Bilbo replied, and patted his chest absently as he gently cleared his throat. "I just thought I would try and catch us breakfast, but I did tell Gloin where I was going as he was on watch."

He saw the way Thorin still watched him, brows raised almost in challenge, and felt his disapproval keenly. They were no longer in Mirkwood, they had kept going the day before until they were clear of the forest, but they were still within sight of it, and he understood Thorin was not happy about that in the slightest. Still, Bilbo knew there was no reason for the elves to attack them now, especially not with Gandalf amongst their number.

Carefully returning to his bent position in the shallows, Bilbo sank his hands back into the river and waited. He was glad when Thorin chose to remain silent, hoping he had thought better of pursuing the potential argument, until the dwarf spoke again.

"I have spoken to Gloin."

Bilbo said nothing to this. He wasn't sure what he was expected to say, truthfully. Of course Thorin had spoken to Gloin, how else would he have known where to look for the hobbit? He decided to simply nod once, and continued to wait.

"He and Dori have agreed to take you back to Beorn," Thorin told him evenly. "Ori will accompany you too, as Dori didn't wish to leave his youngest brother alone. You will have to travel around Mirkwood, but the weather should not turn too cold for a little while yet. Beorn was fond of you, I'm sure he wouldn't mind your company until a proper escort can be arranged to take you back to your home."

It took every ounce of restraint Bilbo had not to give the dwarf a stern piece of his mind. What good would it do except induce the other to return the sentiment and start an argument? No. He didn't want to fight with Thorin. He didn't want to fight with anyone truly, but specifically not Thorin, and not today. Not over this. He knew the dwarf was hurting, knew he was angry, and knew he was likely spoiling for a fight. He was willing to do a great deal for Thorin, but he wasn't going to be his emotional punching bag.

Bilbo took a deep, calming breath, and was pleased that he managed it fairly quietly. His hands remained steady in the river. "Thank you, but as I said last night, I will stay with you until we're ready to try the door again next year."

Thorin sighed. "This is not a suggestion, Master Baggins. This is what will happen."

"Indeed," Bilbo replied, his voice dry. "And yet last night you said you couldn't tell any of us how to proceed any longer?"

"I knew you would argue..." Thorin began to mutter gruffly.

"I'm not arguing," Bilbo argued, cutting across the irritated dwarf before either of them could be tempted into raising their voices and scaring off the fish. He saw another flash of silver wiggling its way up towards where he waited and whispered. "Shush a moment, please."

Silence fell once more, and he was glad of it. He focused all his effort on keeping perfectly still, watching with sharp eyes as the silver bream made its way leisurely towards him. He had learnt to do this as a faunt with his father, and even though line fishing was far more popular in Hobbiton as a rule, Bilbo had always found this far preferable. He hated to think of any creature in pain, especially not at his hands.

He snatched the fish out of the water, quick as a flash, and again held it firm as it wriggled. When he turned towards the riverbank, he saw Thorin now seated on a low boulder, watching him thoughtfully. Bilbo took the fish to the rock and picked up Sting once more.

"I'm sorry you think me so useless still," he said, holding the fish on the wet rock, and with another deft, practised movement, ended its life with minimal suffering. "I had hoped we were past this."

"I do not think you useless," Thorin replied, back to his normal, steady tone. "I spent a great deal of time thinking on the situation last night. This comes from a place of... concern."

Bilbo placed the fish in the bowl with the others, had a quick count up of his catch, and nodded in satisfaction. He then bent to rinse his hands and Sting in the river, before drying the blade on the leg of his trousers and slipping it back into the sheath at his hip. When he looked back at Thorin once more, he could see how completely unimpressed the warrior was with his actions and the treatment of his weapon, but pretended not to notice.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm not going back," Bilbo put his hands on his hips and stretched out his back from where he had been crouched for so long. "Not until we've finished what we set out to do. I can either stay with you, Dwalin, and Nori in Lake Town, or I'll camp outside your mountain for the next year alone and wait for you."

Thorin scoffed immediately. "You would not survive the winter."

"Very well," Bilbo hadn't thought of that, but refused to admit it. "Then I'll manage in the men's settlement alone and we shall be awkward neighbours for the next year. Would that be preferable to you?"

Thorin pressed the tips of his fingers together and looked down at the ground with a deep frown. For a moment Bilbo thought he had ended the conversation successfully, but it was short lived.

"How would you expect to do that?"

Bilbo was puzzled by the question. "The same way you're planning, I would imagine? Find work and rent somewhere to stay."

"It is not so easy as that, Master Baggins," Thorin seemed faintly amused then, but still didn't look up. "And even if it were, what sort of work are you suited to? You have no trade, after all."

He let the comment about not having a trade vanish into the ether without incident. He knew full well that having a 'trade' meant something entirely different to the dwarrow than it did to the rest of Arda.

"It's a fishing village, isn't it?" Bilbo shrugged. "Fishing seems to be the obvious answer."

"I do not think they will let you euthanize each fish you catch one at a time," Thorin snorted derisively. Bilbo might have thought it was an attempt at humour, but the dwarf did look up at him then, and his scorn was evident. "Understand, we cannot carry you through this."

"Carry me?" Bilbo echoed, his facade of calm slipping fast now. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I do not seek to insult you," Thorin responded, as though this helped in any way with the insulting things he was saying. "You have proven yourself a good and loyal ally, but this will be hard labour, and you are just a hobbit."

Bilbo felt something snap inside himself then. He had not wanted to argue, hadn't wanted to let the clearly upset dwarf king take his frustrations out of him, but here they were. At least when Kili had lashed out at him in his despair, it had been honest. Unintentional. This was something else entirely, to seek him out before the sun had even finished rising, just to demean him in the most wretched way.

He knew full well that the dwarrow didn't think much of hobbits in general. They hadn't exactly made a secret of their disdain for life in the Shire, after all. Thorin, however, had been by far the worst for it, and often spoke discourteously of the 'food growers' like that was somehow demeaning. Bilbo had hoped to show them all that there was more to the denizens of the Shire, to perhaps be a sort of ambassador for his people, but now it was painfully evident that he had made no difference at all. It stung.

"Just a hobbit?" he repeated, offended to his core. "Do you truly think that hobbits are all lazy layabouts? That we do nothing all day, every day? We're a farming people! It isn't easy work, not in the slightest!"

"You are not a farmer, Master Baggins."

"I am a landlord!" Bilbo exploded, more angry in that moment than he had ever been with Thorin, for the easy dismissal as much as the implication that he did nothing with his time except while away the hours in leisure. "I keep all my own books for accounts, rent, and wages! I organise building management, general upkeep, crop storage, field rotations, grazing rights... seasonal events! I sit on the Hobbiton council as a scribe and I am part of the governing body that decides on taxes, road repairs, municipal amenities, and weighs in on any crimes or grievances within the community! You think it all just runs itself? Well, it doesn't!"

Bilbo felt a quick stab of guilt for all the responsibilities he had left behind, all the people who had relied on him, and with nothing but a short note left for his cousin Fortinbras, the Thain, to explain his absence. Still, he pushed it aside, as he always did. He couldn't regret his choice to go on this journey, couldn't regret any of it. He would only regret it if he was sent packing without even trying to fulfil his part of the contract, and he wasn't going to let that happen.

Thorin looked almost contrite then, but it was gone quick as a flash to be replaced with cold disdain once more. "This is a poor village, Master Baggins, and those are non-transferrable skills in this situation."

"Fine then!" Bilbo snapped, drawing himself up and matching Thorin's cold gaze with one of his own. "I am personable and well-mannered, I'm clever, I'm numerate and literate, and I have a steady, even hand. I clean my own home, I wash and press my own laundry, I can sew and knit, and I'm an excellent cook, thank you very much. I have some basic carpentry skills from my father, and while I might only treat gardening as a hobby, I have an expansive knowledge of herbs, plants, and fungus to rival any apothecary! How's that for transferable skills?"

Throughout his tirade he had watched Thorin's mouth press together tightly as he again went back to looking at the ground. There was a moment where nothing could be heard except for the river, the birdsong, and Bilbo's heavy breathing. Then Thorin spoke again.

"And what if the only work available to you is to scrub someone else's floors for the next year?" Thorin snarled, clearly furious, fists clenched tightly together and refusing to look up.

"Then that's what I'll do!" Bilbo threw his hands up in the air. "Do you believe I think it beneath me? That I'm not physically or mentally capable of hard work? Well, you're wrong! If you think that every single able-bodied hobbit isn't out in the fields every harvest and planting season, including me, then you are very sorely mistaken!"

Thorin didn't answer this time, he simply remained unmoving, hunched in on himself and still scowling down at some poor, unsuspecting fixed point of the ground. Bilbo realised then that he had been labouring under the mistaken assumption that Thorin no longer thought him weak and silly, that he had managed to prove himself in the mountains to their stern leader, and that at the very least in saving his life, as spontaneous as the reaction had been, he had gained a little good faith. Now he knew otherwise, and that Thorin still believed him to be soft and foolish.

"After everything we've been through together," Bilbo murmured, and Thorin ducked his head low and looked away. It was like a bucket of cold water to the face. He swallowed hard. "Well. That's... truly a pity. I had thought we were starting to become friends, you know."

Thorin's gaze flashed up at him then, something akin to desperation on his face, but it was Bilbo's turn to look away. Snatching up the bowl of fish, he splashed quickly out of the water to the shallow, sandy bank and kept going, right past where the dwarf sat, and stomped back towards the camp. He was stopped by Thorin grabbing him by the upper arm. He knew it was him without turning, the warmth of his large hand seeping through his cotton shirt and holding him firm, but still Bilbo didn't look.

"We are friends, Bilbo," the dwarf said quietly. "I would not have you leave thinking otherwise."

"Well it doesn't matter, because I'm not leaving," Bilbo tried to shrug off, but Thorin didn't budge.

"You cannot stay," Thorin pressed, the hint of anger again edging his still quiet voice.

"You can't stop me!"

"I forbid it."

"Why!"

"Because I think it beneath you!" Thorin suddenly shouted, and he spun Bilbo around to face him, grasping both his arms now, eyes angry and hurt. "You do not understand what it's like! You stand there in your belief of decency, fairness, and with a heart too kind to even allow a blasted fish to suffer, and you do not know what awaits us!"

Bilbo was so shocked, he couldn't think of a single thing to say or do. He could only stare, mouth slightly open, as Thorin held onto him a little desperately, his expression intense and... something else. Something he had never seen before in the dwarf king.

He was afraid, Bilbo realised. The anger that had been built inside the hobbit faded away to nearly nothing at the sight. He immediately wanted nothing more than to soothe that look from his friend's eyes, the way his strong grasp trembled almost imperceptibly, and how his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"They will not treat us kindly," Thorin told him, agitation high in his tone. "There will be no decency, no fairness. They will exploit us, cheat us, and likely abuse us in any matter they can get away with."

Bilbo tried to gather himself. "Surely not...?"

"I have worked in the settlements of men before, I am speaking from experience," Thorin replied, his expression suddenly sombre. "I have grown accustomed to it, as have many of the others. I am glad I've managed to keep Fili and Kili from the experience, and I mean to for as long as there's breath in my body."

Sighing at his own foolishness, Bilbo closed his eyes as the last of his anger went out of him like it was never there. "That's why you're sending them to the Iron Hills..."

It hadn't made sense at the time, but with everything else going on Bilbo hadn't given it a lot of thought. Why did Thorin feel he needed to send emissaries to his cousin in the Iron Hills? Bilbo knew already that Lord Dain had refused Thorin's request for aid before the quest had even begun, so what else was there left to discuss? What would they be going as emissaries of, even? They hadn't reclaimed Erebor yet, after all. Nothing had changed, not to the other dwarf lords, at least. It was an empty gesture, and now Bilbo fully understood its purpose as such was to keep the boys safe, and without hurting their pride.

"Yes. And that is why I am sending you home. I will not stand by and watch you toil for their pleasure and disdain," Thorin suddenly looked embarrassed. He released his hold on Bilbo, taking a small step back and looking aside as he did so. "I will not see the kindness beaten out of you."

A wave of affection for this ridiculously honourable dwarf swept over Bilbo then. He fully anticipated spending the next year in hardship, scraping by, being demeaned and abused at every turn, and his concern had been how to spare as many of the company from the same fate as he could. It was clear to Bilbo that Thorin had only allowed Dwalin and Nori to come along as they both had experience of weathering such things themselves, but everyone else he was doing his best to shepherd away. All of which, Bilbo noted, under the pretext of reasons that wouldn't reveal the true nature of things to anyone.

Any concerns the hobbit had felt spring up from their previous argument vanished immediately. Thorin had been trying to push him away, likely knowing Bilbo wasn't going to just up and leave without a fight. He had been trying to protect him.

"You say you're speaking from experience," he said gently. "But you've managed to keep your kindness, Thorin."

The dwarf scoffed. "Hardly."

"You can say what you like, but here you are putting your quest to regain your home in jeopardy to protect me," Bilbo reached out and gently touched Thorin's elbow. "Just a hobbit."

Thorin winced. "I apologise for that. I... I was hoping to make you upset enough that you would leave willingly, as you almost did in the Misty Mountains."

"Oh, that won't ever work again," Bilbo snorted in amusement, having already guessed the charade and waving his hand airily. "I'll only double down now, I'm afraid."

"I wish it were not so."

"Too bad."

He was rewarded with a small, but true smile from Thorin then, and it was enough to lighten his spirits considerably. They stood there for a long moment, just looking at one another, before the dwarf cleared his throat and broke the strange spell that seemed to have fallen over them both.

"Your father was a carpenter?" Thorin asked, his curiosity seemingly quite genuine.

"No, he was a landlord," Bilbo flashed a quick smile. "But he had a knack for architecture. Designed and built a lot of homes around the Shire over the years, including Bag End."

Thorin nodded. "You do not speak of him much."

"Well, I didn't think any of you would be particularly interested in him, I suppose. Not as much as mother, anyway," Bilbo admitted with a shrug. "He was fairly normal by comparison to her, you see."

Thorin huffed a small laugh at that. "You did not think a company of thirteen dwarrow would be interested in an architect?"

"Well, when you put it like that..." Bilbo chuckled in return.

He hadn't really thought of it that way, but it did make a certain degree of sense. Perhaps Bilbo had wanted to channel his mother's bravery and adventurous spirit up until now? Still, given everything Thorin had just said about what might await them in Lake Town, it seemed that perhaps the durability he had inherited from Bungo Baggins would be of far more use than the wildness of Belladonna Took.

"What was he like?" Thorin asked suddenly, and Bilbo frowned a little at the shallow bowl of fish he was still holding.

"Dependable. Thoughtful. Truly a gentle hobbit in every way," he replied slowly, thinking of his kind-hearted and patient father, not for the first time that morning. "He did everything properly, the way it was expected, but... well, he had something so strong about him, too. Not physically, you understand, but mentally. He was steadfast and loyal, and only ever did what he believed to be right in any given situation. Had a way of talking people around to his way of thinking. Dedicated and full of love for everyone around him. I wish I could be more like him sometimes."

Thorin looked at him with odd amusement, then patted him on the shoulder companionably. "Very well, Master Baggins. I will argue with you no further. You may come with us if that's truly what you wish, but if at any point you change your mind you are to tell me immediately. I will see you to a place of safety myself if it comes to it."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Bilbo smiled up at him. "I mean to come with you all the way to the end, Thorin, son of Thrain. To the very end."

            Chap 3

Three days later, Lake Town was finally in sight. The company had made camp with the lights of the settlement in the distance, their last night all together, and as dawn broke and they made ready to part ways, the mood was heavy.

They had kept a much slower pace than they had been previously to their imprisonment by the elves of the Woodland Realm. It was something Bilbo had first assumed was a side effect of travelling through the Long Marshes, the terrain wet and muddy and fairly dangerous if you didn't keep your feet about you. Once they had cleared the marshlands, however, it became quickly apparent that it was a deliberate choice to go more slowly.

Bilbo supposed it made sense, they were no longer in a rush, but he watched the members of the company carefully and began to suspect they were dragging their feet from exhaustion and deep, abiding disappointment. There was no more singing as they walked, nor in the evenings around the fire. The conversation was stilted and forced, and Bilbo knew he wasn't the only one not getting enough sleep at night now.

Some were bearing up better than others, the Ri brothers, and the Urs all seemed a little withdrawn but otherwise fairly normal, and even Oin seemed like he was taking it all in his stride. Gloin, however, was practically silent, probably at the prospect of not seeing his wife and young son for such a prolonged amount of time. Balin and Dwain were very quiet too, though they seemed to be making an effort for the sake of the others, but Fili and Kili were worryingly muted.

It was jarring, if understandable to see them so disheartened, and Bilbo spent most of the long days headed towards Lake Town walking beside the two brothers and peppering the silence with silly little stories of his own. It wasn't much, and of course they were entitled to their sadness -it was to be expected- but whenever he managed to squeeze a smirk or a chuckle out of either of them, he felt lighter in spirit for it.

Bilbo had grown to care about the boys a great deal on their journey. The two young dwarrow had dedicated a lot of time and effort to keeping the spirits lifted of not just Bilbo, but all of the company. He had become fond of their laughter and enthusiasm, and their sheer delight to be part of the endeavour with their uncle, who they both clearly hero-worshipped. Unfortunately, said uncle was too weighed down by his own despair to do much more than trudge onwards, let alone comfort his nephews.

Bilbo couldn't blame him. He had lost so much in his life, and it must have been such a blow to be so near, and yet so far. Thorin definitely wasn't sleeping, and only ate things that didn't come from their elven rations. Bilbo did everything he could to forage for extra food now they were moving more slowly, though he tried not to draw attention to his concern for fear of worrying the boys. He knew how important it was to Thorin that Fili and Kili leave them in Lake Town without a fuss, and there was no way he was going to jeopardise that.

Still, he watched Thorin carefully. He watched all of them. Watched them, worried for them, and did all he could feasibly manage to try and lift spirits as much as possible while they were all still together.

All too soon they were packing up camp and parting ways, and Bilbo had to give himself a stern talking to about how sad he felt telling everyone goodbye. He smiled warmly at each dwarf in turn as they all did the rounds to say farewell.

Ori gave him a pair of mittens he had knitted himself, and Bilbo was both touched and grateful for the gesture, as it was already starting to feel far colder than it had in the forest. Dori gave him a quick hug, and a whispered plea to keep an eye on Nori for him, which Bilbo promised to do his very best. Oin and Gloin shook hands with him, the latter stopping as though to say something further, then only patted his shoulder and walked away. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur all hugged him tight, with Bofur lingering perhaps a little longer than was strictly platonic, though Bilbo said nothing about it.

Balin smiled and clasped his arm firmly, a gesture that Bilbo returned with a smile of his own.

"I shall miss you, Balin," he told the old dwarf honestly.

"And I you, Bilbo," Balin returned with the same ease of manner and a twinkle in his eye. "Keep them out of trouble for me, won't you laddie?"

Bilbo couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I'll try, though I'm not sure how much sway I hold over the three of them to make much difference."

"You'd be surprised," rejoined Balin promptly, and looked towards where Thorin was offering a very stiff and formal farewell to his nephews. "He's hurting."

"Yes," Bilbo agreed, watching with a heavy heart as Thorin turned away from the boys and headed towards where Gandalf was looking on from the campfire. The dwarf king crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared hard at the peak of Erebor in the distance, his farewells apparently complete. Kili looked like he wanted to go after his uncle, but Fili grabbed him by the shoulder and shook his head in silent dissent.

Unable to watch such sadness a moment longer, Bilbo patted Balin on the arm and bid he take care of himself, then walked quickly to where the boys were standing desolately together. Without waiting for invitation, the hobbit ducked between the pair and threw an arm around each of them with a big smile.

"Now now, no sad faces," Bilbo chided playfully as they looked down in surprise at him. "Of course, I understand that you shall both miss me something fierce, but I'll not have you so glum as you set off on the next leg of your adventure!"

Both Fili and Kili looked like they might cry at that, though they were both smiling and laughing as they turned and the three of them hugged each other tightly. Bilbo felt a lump in his throat at how the two boys clung to him, older than he was in years, but younger by far in maturity, but he swallowed it back.

"Now of course you will write to your uncle while you're in the Iron Hills," Bilbo pressed, trying to sound cheerful. "But I hope you will find a few lines to spare for me too, won't you?"

"Of course we will," Kili answered immediately. "Just so long as you write us back."

"I promise," Bilbo gave them one last squeeze before pulling away, then reaching up to touch both of their shoulders affectionately. "You make sure to eat a lot, sleep as much as you can, and come back to us hale and hearty and full of new stories!"

"Be careful, Bilbo," Fili warned, almost hesitantly looking down at him before a decision seemed to firm behind his eyes, and the older of the pair bent down and gently bumped their foreheads together.

It was affectionate, familial, not like how Dwalin and Balin crashed skulls together, but more gentle and meaningful to the Hobbit somehow. It was a dwarven gesture, he had seen others do it as they travelled, but as Kili leant down to do the same, Bilbo's heart was warmed to be so treated. He reached up to touch his own forehead with his fingers briefly afterwards, and offered a slightly wobbly smile to the two boys grinning back at him.

"Look after each other, won't you?" he told them, clearing his throat a little when he sounded slightly choked up.

"Who's going to miss who fiercely?" mocked Fili jovially.

"Yeah Bilbo," laughed Kili. "Don't cry about it!"

"Oh, get on with you!" Bilbo shoved them both playfully, mock-outrage his failsafe against such teasing. "Behave yourselves, eat a vegetable every now and then, and don't forget to write to your mother!"

Both boys turned to leave, chuckling quietly, and in much higher spirits now than before. He watched them go with a fond smile on his face, the rest of the company falling in and following along. There was still no singing, but there was more of a spring in their step, and he was pleased to see it.

When Bilbo turned back to the much smaller group waiting at the smouldering campfire, he found Thorin watching him with an intensity that surprised him. Those blue eyes bore into him, and he blinked at the weight behind the gaze, before shaking himself and slanting a small smile back at the dwarf. Now it was Thorin's turn to look surprised, and as though shaken out of his dark thoughts, he turned and began walking quickly after the larger group.

"Fili! Kili!" he called gruffly, and Bilbo watched in fascination as the two boys turned and were engulfed by a hug from their uncle.

The three of them stood in the warm embrace for long moments, arms wrapped tightly about one another while the rest of the company looked on, and Bilbo saw Balin looking back at him with a strange little smile on his kindly face. The old dwarf lifted a hand in salute, but by the time Bilbo had looked around to make certain it was aimed at him before responding, Balin had already turned away.

He spared one last glance to Thorin and his nephews, who were now pressing their foreheads together and speaking quietly, before returning to where Gandalf, Nori, and Dwalin were all waiting. Dwalin gave him an appraising glance, Nori smirked, and Gandalf practically beamed at him, as though he had just done a rather clever trick.

"What?" Bilbo asked, frowning between them, confused by the reaction, until a worrying thought occurred to him. "Oh. Have I overstepped? Insulted some kind of custom?"

Dwalin spared him another glance, this time borderline incredulous, then with a shake of his head and a quiet scoff, he reached down to the pan that had contained their breakfast and speared the last remaining sausage onto a fork. Bilbo watched in some confusion as the large dwarf then offered it to him without a word. He got the strong impression he was somehow being rewarded for something, though he had no idea what, and he certainly wasn't about to refuse food. He took the fork with the sausage impaled upon it and nodded his thanks a little awkwardly.

"Sit down, burglar," the big dwarf told him gruffly, and Bilbo did as he was bid.

He continued to watch Dwalin, some part of him still expecting an answer to his question, but he was largely ignored even as Nori sniggered and jostled the other dwarf playfully from where he sat quite close beside him. When no answer was apparently forthcoming, Bilbo shrugged, chewing thoughtfully on his prize.

After a few moments of silence, Bilbo finished his 'second breakfast' and listened to the sound of Thorin walking back towards them. He didn't turn, already knowing who approached, but was surprised when a large, warm hand grasped his narrow shoulder. He looked up, but Thorin was already walking past him, his hand gone as quickly as it had come, as the dwarf moved to sit on the other side of the campfire.

"I know little of Esgaroth these days, in truth," Thorin admitted, straight to the business ahead of them. "Only snatches of information from our kin in the Iron Hills, and none of it encouraging."

"I hear there isn't much of a class distinction," Nori said. "It's run by a man they call 'The Master' and all power belongs to him. The guard are strict and vicious, and everyone else lives under their boot."

Bilbo tried not to react to that, feeling more of an observer in this conversation, rather than a participant. He had decided to stay at Thorin's side, whatever that might bring, but he didn't want to give any sign of unease in case the rest of the company were called back and he was forcibly packed off to Beorn's.

"I have dealt with the Master of Lake Town before," Gandalf said slowly, and Bilbo turned to see the wizard lighting his pipe with a spark that seemed to materialise from the end of his long, boney fingers. "He does not cut a particularly honourable figure, in truth, but he is generally harmless. Greedy and selfish, of course, but too foolish to have any real teeth. No, it is his advisor you should have a care for. Crafty, that one, and cruel."

Bilbo didn't like the sound of that.

"We should have no reason to cross their path," Thorin said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I would suggest we pool our resources for now, take a room at an inn, and look for work immediately we're able."

As the three dwarrow reached inside their pockets to retrieve any coin they had left, Bilbo felt incredibly uncomfortable for a moment. He had left his own purse back in the Shire, so rushed he had been the morning of their departure, and didn't like the idea of being a burden anymore now than he ever had on their journey. Especially as it seemed to be the general consensus of all the company that Bilbo would struggle the most to find employment. He remembered Thorin's warning only days before that they were unable to 'carry him' and it had given him a great deal of disquiet ever since.

"I have something of yours, Bilbo," Gandalf called, and he looked up, only to see the wizard toss him something small, about the size of his palm. Bilbo caught it deftly, and his eyes widened in surprise at the familiar little pouch that jangled as he clasped it. Relief immediately outweighed any annoyance he might have felt at the wizard keeping his coin purse for so long, but he still frowned at the old man anyway.

"Have you had this all the while?" he asked, his thumb automatically tracing the embroidery his mother had added to the soft leather pouch when he was just a tween.

Gandalf waved him off. "If I had not kept hold of it, you would likely have lost it in the goblin caves some months back."

He shuddered at the mention of the goblin caves. He had spent hours wandering by himself in the dank darkness before he finally found his way out and stumbled into the rest of the company outside, quite by chance. He had been lucky not to have been caught or found by any other sinister creature that may or may not have made its home in such a place.

"And perhaps I forgot I had it," Gandalf added with a rueful smile, and Bilbo grinned.

He opened the drawstring and had a quick count up of the contents in the pouch. "Well, I'm not sure what good it will do, but I'm relieved I can at least attempt to contribute, at any rate."

Nori was on his feet and beside the hobbit almost immediately, his curiosity a living thing, and with a smile Bilbo got the dwarf to hold out his hand so he could pour out the contents. A collection of copper, silver, and a single gold coin fell out into Nori's palm.

"Bilbo!" Nori gave a shocked little laugh. "That's not exactly meagre!"

"Hmm?" Bilbo didn't look up, poking a finger through the collection until he found the copper coin he had been searching for, and picked it up. "Oh, well it would have been more, but it was market day and I had accounts to settle up."

It seemed so long ago, that last day in Hobbiton, like an entirely different life. He supposed in some ways it was. Suddenly Bilbo realised Dwalin and Thorin were standing over him now too, both looking at the small collection of coins in Nori's hand.

"You're really not here for the gold, are you, burglar?" Dwalin rumbled, looking at Bilbo with a smirk.

The hobbit didn't know what to say to that, and felt a blush creeping up his neck as all three dwarrow made him the centre of attention. He cleared his throat a little awkwardly.

"I only meant it might not do us much good due to the currency style," Bilbo shrugged quickly. "Shire coin is smaller than most, I'm not sure if it will be accepted here."

"Silver is silver, Master Baggins," Thorin said thoughtfully. "It can be re-struck if needed. How much are you willing to part with?"

"Oh!" Bilbo blinked up at the dwarf king, though he wasn't looking back. "All of it, I should think. We're pooling our resources, aren't we?"

The dwarrow all exchanged very quick glances, before Dwalin shrugged. "None of us can match this amount, lad."

"So?" Bilbo frowned in deep confusion, and Nori laughed quietly.

"Bilbo, it's just that there's enough here to keep us going for a few months, I reckon. You'd be footing a lot of the initial bill for our stay."

Remembering how embarrassed he had been only moments before at the prospect of not being able to financially contribute, Bilbo suddenly recognised the emotion in his three friends. He had been careless and inattentive with his wording, and regretted it now.

"Well, I think you'll find there's an expenses policy in my contract, somewhere," he tried to joke, but it didn't do much good. Bilbo sighed. "Look, this is an unexpected windfall. I haven't been counting on it as I didn't know it was even there until moments ago, and I have no other use for it than this. We ought to make the most of it, if only because it will likely take me longer to find work than the rest of you."

Bilbo looked at Thorin then, who was regarding him with a very serious, if closed-off expression. "Are you certain?"

"Oh heavens yes, I wouldn't have said it otherwise!" Bilbo grumped mildly in return. He was very embarrassed by all the scrutiny, and leaned back in to glance at the coin still in Nori's hand. "I make it one gold, eight silver, and twelve coppers, not including my lucky coin, which I would as soon keep and not use unless we absolutely have to."

He flipped the copper coin he had already removed and caught it deftly, before tucking it away in the pocket of his waistcoat. The three dwarrow watched the action speculatively, and for a moment it looked like Nori was going to say something, until Thorin interrupted.

"I believe this would be a mistake," he advised, carefully taking the gold coin from the little pile and inspecting it with interest, before offering it back to Bilbo. "We do not want to garner any unwanted attention, so it would be best tucked away as a last resort."

Bilbo had to admit he could see the sense in that, and nodded as he dropped the gold coin into his purse. He knew well enough that some folks could be greedy and up their prices if they thought a customer was monied. It happened only occasionally in the Shire, as hobbits all knew one another, or even knew someone's mother or grandfather, and it simply wouldn't do to cause a ruckus over something like profit. Still, Bilbo had been to Bree a couple of times in his life even before all this, and found that merchants and vendors there seemed to charge higher prices if the patron looked well off.

Thorin then also removed a silver coin and three coppers, handing them back to Bilbo as well. "It would be best for you to keep something about you, for your own personal expenses. I think we would all feel better not leaving you with nothing at all, should a need arise, save for a copper coin you would prefer not to spend."

For a moment the hobbit considered arguing the point, that a kitty was a kitty, and if he had need of anything they would discuss it at the time, but there was something truly heavy in Thorin's gaze that gave him pause. He shifted a little uncomfortably, remembering the fond farewell between himself and Fili and Kili, and again wondered if he had breached some kind of secret dwarven protocol. Looking away from that intense gaze, Bilbo accepted the three coins back with a quick nod, and slipped them into his purse, too.

After that it was soon decided that they would take rooms at the local Inn, get settled and acquaint themselves with the town and its people, then first thing tomorrow set out in search of work. Gandalf would not stay the night, he advised, but would go with Bilbo to get writing supplies for his letter, then be on his way to catch up the rest of the company. In truth, the hobbit wished the wizard would stay, at least a while longer, but he could tell from the deep frown and how he puffed his pipe a little too fast that there was a cloud of anxiety about him. Something weighed on his friend, and Bilbo didn't want to be the cause of prolonging it any more than necessary, no matter how much better he felt at having Gandalf around.

They broke camp after that, smothering the fire, washing up the leftover pan and bowls that had been split between them and the rest of the company, and packed up their bedrolls. Soon the five of them were on their way, Bilbo slipping his new mittens from Ori onto his hands to try and warm himself a little, and missing the safety and familiarity of travelling with a much larger group. Deep in thought, trying to wrack his brains for a clever way to get a job, and quickly, he trailed a little behind the others. He only noticed when Thorin dropped back to walk beside him, causing him to start slightly.

Bilbo thought the dwarf might strike up conversation, since he had seemed to go out of his way to walk with him when he was always heading up the group before, but there was only silence. He didn't even look at the hobbit, only staring ahead as they trudged along with a grim set to his features.

After a good while of this, Bilbo asked a little hesitantly. "Am I in trouble?"

Thorin frowned. "What would you be in trouble for, Master Baggins?"

"I'm, uh... not sure," Bilbo hedged, then sighed, knowing he would have to be forthright about this if he wanted an answer. "I was worried perhaps my farewell to Fili and Kili had been insulting to you in some way."

Thorin actually stopped walking then, looking completely taken aback by the hobbit's words. Bilbo stopped too, fidgeting under the scrutiny, before Thorin gathered himself, beginning to walk once again and clearing his throat in an obvious bid to buy time.

"You care for my nephews."

Bilbo kept pace with the dwarf again as they continued their trek, but frowned down at the floor as he went. It wasn't a question, he didn't think. More like a statement.

"Of course," he confirmed. "They're good lads, and I've become very fond of them both. I would say that Balin and Bofur were my first friends within the group, but I've spent more time with Fili and Kili as we've all travelled together."

Bilbo glanced at Thorin to measure his response, and was immediately worried to see him apparently looking very hard at his hair, as though searching for something. When he realised Bilbo was watching him, however, he turned and began frowning deeply at the horizon ahead. He was about to try and smooth over his words, despite having no idea what he had said wrong, only for Thorin to turn his gaze at him, something akin to concern marring his handsome features.

"I think perhaps Bofur wishes for more than just your friendship."

Feeling his face heat up in mortification, Bilbo returned to staring at the floor as they walked together. Dwarves! No tact at all! To just come right out and say such a thing, as if Bilbo were somehow unaware!

Of course he knew, but he wasn't about to ruin a perfectly lovely friendship by announcing to all and sundry that he had absolutely no attraction to Bofur. Bofur seemed to realise his feelings weren't reciprocated in that way, and so it was left unspoken. To think Thorin of all people felt it necessary to give voice to such a thing was awkward in more ways than one, not least because of all the company, he was the only one that Bilbo had any inclination to want to climb like a tree. Not that he ever gave that any thought. At any point, ever. Drat him.

"In the Shire it's considered quite rude to speak of another's personal matters without invitation," he chastised, fighting back his embarrassment.

"We are not in the Shire, Master Baggins," Thorin responded with an angry snap, and Bilbo wondered vaguely if the pair of them were just doomed to bicker for the entirety of their friendship.

"No, we are not," the hobbit tried to sound mild. "But I am trying to find out if I have offended your culture somehow. It behoves you to do the same, your Majesty."

He couldn't help but feel a little pleased by the smothered splutter from the dwarf beside him, nor the way his usually sure steps faltered ever so slightly at Bilbo's retort. Thorin seemed to take a moment to consider his next words, until he sighed heavily in apparent defeat.

"You are right Master Baggins, I apologise. I will not intrude on your personal matters further," the dwarf sounded like it pained him to say as much, and it was all Bilbo could do not to tut at his dramatics before Thorin forged ahead, a little more gently. "As far as my nephews go, you could never cause offence by your obvious care for them, nor theirs for you. The kinship the three of you share... it pleases me."

"Oh," Bilbo replied quietly, unsure if he was more touched by the earnest words Thorin had spoken, or the almost timid way they had been delivered. It was as though he expected the hobbit to throw them back at him in some manner, as if he might have insulted him. Bilbo didn't like the thought of that, and decided to immediately put paid to such an idea. "Well, I love them as if they were family, in truth. I'm glad to know you don't mind."

"What is there to mind?" Thorin said with a shrug. "They have had little enough of it in their lives."

"Little enough?"

"Little enough love," Thorin sounded hoarse suddenly, and Bilbo could see the tension in his large frame even as they continued along their way behind the others.

"I'm sure that's not true," he tried to offer comfort. "They are well thought of by all the company, and they must have friends close to their own ages in the Blue Mountains. Not to mention their mother, of course, and you."

"You're right on many counts, Master Baggins, but I fear I must discount myself from such a list. I have failed them in many ways, and all too often."

"Now I'll not have that," Bilbo admonished, albeit gently. "They worship the ground you walk on, Thorin. You must see that."

"Perhaps," Thorin shrugged. "I know it was not your intent, but watching your farewells with them both made me realise how much I had forgotten I was not just their leader and king, but also their uncle. You treated them as I ought to have done, and in truth it shamed me."

It really hurt something inside of Bilbo to see Thorin so low, thinking so ill of himself. He wasn't sure why, but the terrible burden of grief in the dwarf had always twinged at him somehow, though it was often balanced with admiration for how brave and determined he was. How he stubbornly refused to give up, no matter how the odds were stacked against him. Now though, the hobbit could see how defeated his friend had become. The sadness in his eyes, the way he carried himself, and now this deep and terrible sorrow in his voice and words. It ate at Bilbo, and he desperately wanted to make it better - even just a little.

"Thorin," he said softly, reaching out a small hand to grasp the dwarf by the wrist and stop them both in their tracks.

He knew full well that he couldn't have physically stilled Thorin even if he had thrown his whole body weight at him, but at the gentle touch, he stopped anyway and looked down at Bilbo in surprise. For a moment the hobbit gazed very seriously up at the dwarf king, deciding on what to say. He felt like the appropriate thing would be something warm and sentimental, but how he wished he could make Thorin smile, truly smile as he hadn't since they had stayed with Beorn.

"Thorin," he repeated, his tone very serious now. "If you only ever listen to a single thing I say to you, let it be this: Your nephews truly and honest to Valar believe the sun shines right out of your arse."

There was half a breath of a moment where Bilbo immediately regretted his blunt choice of words, unsure of their reception when there wasn't a hint of a response in that handsome face. Then, oh but then, blue eyes lit up, a smile spread slowly across the previously grim-set mouth, and a deep rumble rose up through that broad chest like pure, heated water bubbling up from a geyser until it exploded into a beautiful and honest laugh.

Bilbo felt his own smile bloom at the joyful sight, and watched with a lighter heart as Thorin threw back his head and laughed merrily. Soon the hobbit was laughing too, his happiness buoyed up by having been able to make the dwarf laugh, as he had hoped he might, and feeling incredibly accomplished by his own success.

After a few moments, when their combined hilarity had subsided, Thorin smiled warmly down at him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, only watching one another and sharing in the genuine camaraderie of the moment. Thorin then let out a small sigh and looked down at his boots.

"My nephews are lucky to have your love, Master Baggins," he said quietly.

Bilbo wasn't at all sure what to say to that. It sounded odd somehow, and for a moment he considered saying that they all, all of the company, had his love, but somehow it felt like the wrong thing, or the wrong time, and so he held his silence. After a long moment, he thought perhaps Thorin might say something more, but he only turned back to the road where the others were by now quite far ahead. He motioned with a tilt of his head for Bilbo to follow suit, and so he did, willing as he always was to follow Thorin anywhere.

Chap 4

  "State your name and business!"

Bilbo blinked up at the two men on the jetty leading into Lake Town, surprised by their immediate hostility. They were big, of course, but despite being a little shorter than Gandalf, they were much more intimidating. Thorin brushed past him and stepped forward, and for half a moment Bilbo thought he felt the faint touch of a hand against his elbow, but it was gone faster than he could blink.

"I am Thorin," he introduced himself. "These are my kin, Dwalin and Nori, and our companions. We are passing through for now, looking to stay at the inn."

It struck Bilbo as odd that Thorin hadn't introduced himself and the two other dwarrow as they did usually, 'son of' et cetera, and stranger still that he had completely neglected to name either himself or Gandalf. The two guards sneered back at the king, completely unaware of his identity, and it occurred to Bilbo that might have been the point.

"Don't much like dwarves round here," one of them spat, looking down his nose most disrespectfully at Thorin, before turning his gaze on Bilbo himself. "And what's that supposed to be?"

Well. It wasn't the first time he had been spoken to disrespectfully, and it was unlikely to be the last. He smiled politely at the leering guards and sketched a short bow.

"My name is Bilbo Baggins, and I am a hobbit. Pleased to meet you, I'm sure."

"What's a hobbit?" asked one.

"Dunno," his companion replied, eyeing Bilbo, though not with nearly the same level of hostility he had shown to Thorin. "Looks like a child, but...not."

"I am fifty-one years old, in actual fact," Bilbo told them genially. "A little older than either of you gentlemen, I should imagine?"

The guards both guffawed at this, as the second one went very wide-eyed. "But you're tiny!"

"I'm quite tall for a hobbit, as it happens," Bilbo replied, feeling this would somehow work out in their favour if he could soften the guards up a little. "Why, I have a cousin who is almost a foot shorter than I am, and he's not likely to grow much more... except maybe sideways!"

It was a well used idiom in the Shire, of course, but it had the desired effect when both of the men laughed at his joke. He hadn't missed the way Thorin was standing very close to him now, still a little ahead despite Bilbo's best efforts to subtly step forward. He glanced at Gandalf on his other side, and the wizard winked at him.

"Might we be permitted to pass?" Bilbo pressed, unused to taking the lead over Thorin in such matters, but feeling like it was the right thing to do in this situation. "We mean no harm, we're only looking for a place to rest. Our travel plans have, uh, gone askew so we just need to regroup for a while."

"Hm," the first guard considered, glancing suspiciously back at Thorin, Nori, and Dwalin. "Don't know. Their kind are trouble."

It was only years of practice at tea with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that kept the polite smile on Bilbo's face, and if it lost all of its warmth immediately, well. Neither of the men seemed to notice. To their credit, none of the dwarrow reacted to this, and Thorin's words at the river floated across Bilbo's mind like a dark cloud. They expected this, and that stung.

"They are my very dear friends, and I would happily vouch for all of them," Bilbo replied quite firmly, lifting his chin a little as he continued to smile woodenly at the guards. "We have travelled many miles together, and through great danger, and I have trusted each one of them with my life on more than one occasion. I would happily stake my own honour to theirs, should that mean anything."

Thorin was staring at him. He could feel it, see the way he had turned his head quickly, but he daren't acknowledge it. He may have angered him by speaking so, and it wouldn't do at all for them to bicker before these two guards after he had just tied his word to theirs to call them friends.

"Stout little thing, aren't you?" The first guard harrumphed, even as the second looked a little misty eyed, as though he were looking at a basket of little kittens rather than a middle-aged hobbit.

"Bless him, his serious little face..."

Bilbo thought he heard Nori snort quietly behind him, but paid his friend no mind. The men of Bree were much the same towards their diminutive neighbours, so while uncomfortable and a touch embarrassing, it was a mortification he could bear quite easily. Much more so than the way they had spoken of the dwarrow, certainly.

"What of you, then?" The first guard turned to Gandalf, looking him up and down. "We don't allow beggars and vagabonds."

This time Nori definitely snorted as he apparently tried to hold in his amusement. Bilbo almost joined him, having to concentrate very hard not to move a muscle, lest he laugh. Gandalf straightened, then released a slow sigh. It seemed it was to be a humbling day for all of them.

"Forgive my outward attire, we have travelled a long way," Gandalf wheedled slightly in that same tone he had used with Beorn. "I do not plan to stay in any case, I am simply here to accompany Mister Baggins to the Inn and await a letter he wishes delivered."

"Hm," the first guard looked suspiciously around the group, though softened a very little when his gaze fell back to Bilbo, and seemed to be speaking only to him. "Very well, but if you stay longer than three nights you'll need to sign into the register. If you mean to work while you're here, you'll need a permit, too."

Bilbo heard Dwalin growl very quietly at that, and immediately realised getting a permit to work here would prove difficult for the dwarrow, if only evidenced by how hard it had been simply to be allowed entry. He managed to scoot forward past Thorin at last, and stepped before the guard.

"Thank you," he said, trying to appear quite casual. "We may well be here longer, how would we go about signing the register?"

"Alfrid," the second guard's face screwed up in clear distaste. "He takes care of all that pen-pusher stuff for the Master."

"The Town Hall is that central building, there," the first guard pointed to a large spire, placing his other hand on Bilbo's shoulder. The sound of Thorin taking a step forward caused them both to turn back and look at the dwarf, and Bilbo recognised the cold warning in his eyes as he glared at the man.

He didn't know why Thorin looked so angry, thinly veiled as it was, but the guard appeared almost amused by it as his hand fell away from Bilbo and he looked down at the dwarf. It was an odd thing to witness, in fact. To Bilbo, Thorin was huge, really. Tall, broad, and solid. Standing before this man, however, the size difference was very strange indeed. Of course, he still looked strong and regal, and handsome (not that Bilbo noticed any such thing, no no) but the hobbit was suddenly aware of just how dangerous this next year was going to be.

"No weapons," the guard sneered down at Thorin. "You leave them here."

For a moment Thorin looked like he might argue, still as stone as he continued to glare furiously at the guard. Bilbo knew the men were looking for a reason to turn them away, even now, and quickly unbuckled Sting from around his waist.

"Fair enough, I'm sure we won't be needing them while we're here," he said hurriedly, handing his blade over. "Of course, we'll be getting a receipt?"

"A receipt?" the second guard looked puzzled, though that did rather seem to be his default expression. "What's a receipt?"

"It's simply a short, written confirmation that we have entrusted our possessions to your care," Bilbo explained kindly, even as the first guard took Sting and inspected the blade with interest. "So that when we take our leave, everything is accounted for. It's just a precaution, but it protects both parties from any future argument."

"I'm not much for lettering," the second guard mumbled. "What about you, Bert?"

"Aye, I can do it," the first guard, Bert, nodded. "Cedric, you collect the rest of the weapons. Mister Baggins, you come with me and we'll see about this receipt of yours."

Bilbo turned to offer a pleading look to his friends to comply, knowing full well that all their plans would fall through if they were denied access to Lake Town. He could understand their frustration -he felt it himself- but they would have to abide by the rules if they wanted this to work. Thorin was already so full of grief, and Bilbo didn't want to think of the effect it would have on the dwarf's spirit if he had to turn around and leave the mountain once again. Still, he also wasn't sure how many more blows Thorin could take to his pride before he snapped.

He was quite taken aback by how quickly Thorin removed Orcrist and handed it over to the second guard, Cedric, before Bilbo even had a chance to make any kind of supplication. The hobbit blinked in surprise at the ease of which the king had surrendered, but felt immense relief at the same time.

Thorin then surprised him further by stepping up beside him and placing a large hand between his shoulder blades, then steering him towards the little half-cabin where Bert was already heading. Apparently Thorin was coming with him to make certain the receipt was in order.

They said nothing, even as Bert gave Thorin another suspicious glare when they approached, and Bilbo tried not to fidget too much as the dwarf kept his hand firmly where it was. Bilbo tried to keep his mind on checking the receipt, making sure all their weapons were accounted for and listed properly, then noted down exactly on a second copy so both parties could keep one. It was difficult, though, with Thorin standing so close he could feel the heat of him at his back.

There was something odd about this, he decided, though he couldn't quite figure out what. Thorin touched him occasionally, but usually just in passing. This was different. Deliberate. Possessive even, he might say if he were prone to flights of fancy. Was he concerned that Bert might try something, perhaps separating their weakest member from the group? Was it that he questioned Bilbo's allegiance? Surely not.

Soon they were just about finished, with Cedric entering behind them and placing their collective weapons into a lock box. Dwalin and Nori stood off to one side, neither looking happy, though Bilbo was sure they each had some kind of hidden blade about their person. Thorin, he knew, kept a knife in his boot that he had yet to mention. Bilbo also noticed that Gandalf's own sword was mysteriously missing from all proceedings, and had kept his staff, despite it being quite possibly the most dangerous weapon of them all.

"There you go, Mister Baggins," said Bert, handing him the copy after they had both signed. "When you're ready to leave, you just bring that along here and ask for me. I can be fetched easy enough."

"Thank you, Bert," Bilbo smiled and bowed very slightly, just to be polite. "A pleasure doing business with you both."

Cedric grinned and gave him a little wave, as though saying goodbye to a young child, but Bert nodded, seeming to weigh him up for a moment. "Pleasure's mine, Mister Baggins. If you're staying at the Inn, I'm sure we'll be seeing you around soon."

"Well, that would be lovely!" began Bilbo, trying to be neighbourly, but Thorin's hand had returned to its earlier place on his back, and began to propel him away from the two men and into the town. Not wanting to be rude, he called over his shoulder to the smirking guard. "Take care!"

A heavy silence fell over what was left of the company, even as Gandalf took the lead, having been to Lake Town before, and therefore knowing where the Inn could be found. Nori and Dwalin went next, the former glancing almost pityingly at Bilbo as he went, and Thorin kept his hand on his back as they followed, bringing up the rear. Bilbo tried not to sigh, knowing he had upset their leader, though on what particular point, he couldn't exactly say. Perhaps all of it.

It wouldn't surprise Bilbo to find that Thorin felt his polite veneer towards the two guards as a betrayal of some kind. They had been horribly bigoted, after all, and it might have appeared that Bilbo didn't care about that, and had even tried to be friends with them.

He wanted to apologise, to explain, but Lake Town was not anything like Bree, and it was all he could do to keep moving and not get knocked over by passers by. It was even harder to not shy away from the open staring that happened when their little party was noticed. It certainly didn't help that the wooden floor creaked beneath his feet, deep, dark, and icy cold lake water sloshing around beneath. He realised that having treacherous water surrounding him was just a reality of the situation he had not considered until now, and would have to grow accustomed to. He shuddered.

"You were fifty," said Thorin suddenly, from quite close to his ear as they walked.

"I'm sorry?" Bilbo tried to turn his head and look at the dwarf, but found he had to pay attention to where he was going. A man carrying a large crate almost ran him over, and it was only Thorin steering him with the hand he still had pressed between his shoulders that averted disaster.

"When first we met, you told us you were fifty years old," Thorin continued, almost absently. "Now you are fifty-one."

"I... yes," Bilbo admitted, a little surprised. "Well, I've had a birthday."

They continued to weave their way through the busy marketplace, following the others closely, yet still somehow in their own little bubble. At length, Thorin spoke again.

"You made no mention of it. Do hobbits not celebrate their birthdays?"

"Oh, of course we do!" Bilbo replied, deliberately glossing over the first observation. "Hobbit birthdays are quite the occasion in the Shire. A big party is always expected, lots of food, dancing, and merriment all around. Everyone is invited, of course, all the family, friends, and neighbours, and the whole community will pitch in with catering and decorations for such an event. It's a time to celebrate with those around you."

Thorin was again quiet for a long moment, and Bilbo wished they were not having this conversation -or any conversation, in actual fact- while navigating the busy jetties and boardwalks of this unfamiliar town. Thorin was difficult to read at the best of times, but Bilbo had made something of a study of him since they'd first begun their journey together, and had become rather adept at deciphering at least some of his facial expressions. The way they currently were, however, gave him no insight to what this conversation was actually about, nor the mood of the one pursuing it like it was the most important subject in the world.

"And yet," Thorin pressed again, after a moment. "You did not see fit to share it with us, your companions for the past six months. If I had not heard you speak so fervently of us as friends only moments ago, I might perhaps doubt you held us in any regard at all."

Bilbo stopped exactly where he was and spun around to face the dwarf. It was only Thorin's quick reflexes that kept him from crashing straight into the hobbit, something Bilbo was grateful for, though only mildly as it wasn't top of his priorities just now.

"You don't mean that," Bilbo told him, rather than asked. "I only didn't mention it because we had other concerns at the time, that's all."

"Such as?" Thorin folded his arms over his chest, raising a thick, dark eyebrow at him.

"Oh, for goodness... it could have been anything, you realise?" Bilbo replied, exasperated. "It might have been any of the days we were travelling through the mountains, or when we became separated in the goblin tunnels, or when we were running from orcs, or even the trolls, where I spent a good, long time upside down in a bramble bush!"

"But it wasn't," Thorin pressed, far too perceptive sometimes. "Or you would not be avoiding the question."

"Thorin, if you're cross with me and using this as an excuse to hide your ill temper..."

"You seem to worry a great deal that I might be cross with you, Bilbo," Thorin took a step forward, so they were standing almost chest to chest, though not quite touching. He didn't look angry, it was true, but there was something heated in his eyes, and Bilbo's heart jumped at the casual use of his first name. Thorin never called him Bilbo, or at least very rarely, and only when emotions were high.

"I can tell when you're upset, you know," Bilbo murmured, trying not to blush at this sudden, strange intimacy.

"Can you?" Something crackled in the atmosphere between them as Thorin lowered his head very slightly, their faces mere inches apart. "I only wish to know when your birthday falls, so that I might not miss it again. It would mean a great deal to me to be able to celebrate with you in future, that is all."

"Why?" Bilbo's voice came out a little breathless, feeling a pull towards the dwarf towering over him like a lodestone. His heart was beating much too fast, his gaze caught in Thorin's, even as a rich, earthy scent wrapped itself around him. Vetiver, he noted a little dreamily. The oil Thorin used in his beard and hair.

A sudden, low wolf-whistle snapped Bilbo back into the present, and he jolted away, suddenly remembering where they were, and who he was practically drooling over. He stumbled a little, but caught himself even as Thorin reached out in apparent concern. Face flaming, he waved the dwarf's worry aside and turned to see Nori grinning widely back at them.

"Come on, love birds," Nori teased, waving them over. "We found the Inn!"

Bilbo didn't wait to see if Thorin followed, he made a beeline for Nori, ignored his friend sniggering at his no doubt bright red face, and breezed past while fighting for his composure. Just what had he been thinking? He didn't know what was going on with Thorin, but he had just made a complete fool of himself. He was supposed to be ignoring his inconvenient attraction for the dwarf, not indulging in it!

Thorin was clearly upset about all of this, but for half a breath there, Bilbo had imagined he meant to kiss him, and how ridiculous was that? It was truly a good thing Nori had been there, or he might have ruined everything and been packed off home in disgrace. Foolish hobbit, he scolded himself.

Gathering up all of his Took-ish courage, and all of his Baggins aplomb, he lifted his chin and approached where Gandalf and Dwalin waited out the front of a very rickety looking old building. A worn, hand-painted sign hung over the door, with the shaky lettering "The Laughing Pike" scrawled across it.

"Why Bilbo, my friend," began Gandalf, looking surprised. "Are you quite well? You look a little flushed."

"I'm perfectly well, thank you," Bilbo replied brusquely, ignoring the light tap of Nori's footsteps behind him, followed by the unmistakable heavy footfalls of Thorin. "Gandalf, you and I should go. I have things to do, and I think they shouldn't wait."

"What's your hurry, burglar?" Dwalin asked, though looking past Bilbo and to something -or someone- over his right shoulder.

"You ought not call me that while we're here," Bilbo cautioned, looking around to make sure no strangers were within earshot. "I mean to go to the town hall, sign us all into the register, and apply for work permits. I think it would be better if I did it alone, and if it was taken care of sooner rather than later."

For a moment he worried he might have offended the dwarrow with his bluntness, but he felt so off-kilter by the events of the morning, and he knew that right now, quick thinking and quicker actions were their best chance of success. Bilbo knew from living in Hobbiton how fast rumour could spread, and they needed to get ahead of it if they were to succeed.

"As with Beorn," Thorin spoke from just behind his right side, his tone thoughtful. "The idea has merit, but I do not like the idea of you going off alone."

"I won't be alone," Bilbo replied, not so much as turning to look at him. "Gandalf will be with me, and it gives me a chance to get parchment and ink for my letter at the same time."

"Perhaps I might go, instead..." Thorin began, sounding hesitant.

"It has to be me, I'll have a much higher success rate," Bilbo immediately shot the idea down, looking at Gandalf for confirmation.

"Bilbo is quite right," the wizard said. "If you are to stay in Esgaroth, then you need to have everything in order, and the sooner the better."

"Aye, before those guards finish their shift," Dwalin nodded at Bilbo in agreement, then flicked his gaze to where Thorin apparently stood behind him still. "Bilbo can manage that, and as he says, the wizard is with him. He's our best chance."

For the second time since they had entered Lake Town, Bilbo started slightly at the casual use of his first name. Oh, of course he had invited Dwalin to do so, certain that being called 'burglar' even as a strange sort of nickname might give the wrong impression. Still, he was a little stunned how easily the big, stoic dwarf had made the switch.

"Very well," Thorin bit out, brushing past Bilbo and stomping towards the door to the Inn, very clearly annoyed now. "Be back by nightfall, or we will have no choice but to come search you out."

Nori patted Bilbo on the shoulder as he too walked past, and Dwalin quirked an eyebrow at him before turning to follow. Seized by a sudden, unshakeable urge, Bilbo called out to Thorin's retreating back.

"September 22nd!"

He didn't know why the dwarf had become so fixated on his birthday all of a sudden, or what their strange, intense little interaction had been only moments before, but he knew Thorin was not himself. He knew their leader was hurting, angry, and frustrated, and that he was trying to simply keep forging ahead. Bilbo wanted to help, and if that meant indulging a strange and potentially awkward question, then he would do so.

He waited with baited breath as Thorin stopped, standing stock still for a moment as he apparently worked out exactly when that date had fallen. Bilbo tried not to gulp as Thorin's shoulders sagged a little, realising they had been in Thranduil's dungeons at the time, explaining his decision not to mention it - he had lost track of the days in any case, so even if he had said something, it would have been wrong.

"Thank you," Thorin said, turning only slightly, meeting Bilbo's gaze for a split second before looking away again. "I hope next year we will be in a better position to celebrate with you, as your friends who you have travelled many miles with, through great danger, who you have grown to trust, and now sworn your own honour in defence of."

Bilbo recognised his own words to the guards earlier, and felt his heart jump suddenly. Perhaps he had been wrong, and Thorin had taken his interference in the spirit with which it had been meant? He was flooded with relief, and practically sagged with it, only now realising how tense he had felt in his concern.

"I'll be looking forward to it," Bilbo smiled, for all Thorin couldn't see him. Nori grinned and gave him a thumbs up, oddly, and even Dwalin appeared to be pleased with this.

Thorin nodded, then continued towards the entrance to the Inn, calling back over his shoulder as he went. "Be back by nightfall, Bilbo."

Chap 5

   Bilbo followed closely behind Gandalf, finding it a somewhat easier journey due to the wizard's height clearing a path before them. They had stopped to get writing supplies first, Gandalf having advised he wasn't sure how long their trip to the Town Hall would take, and the market might be closed. Bilbo had jotted out a quick missive to his cousin in Tuckborough, and the wizard tucked it away with the promise to have it taken direct to Fortinbras as soon as he found a courier.

Lake Town was like nothing Bilbo had ever seen before, which, he supposed, was not saying much given that this last six months was the most he had seen of anything, anywhere. He couldn't get used to the sound and sense of water directly beneath the creaking boards and stilts the town was propped up on, and suspected he would be perpetually prickled by a low level of anxiety about it for the whole time they stayed here.

The smell of fish, pine, and a strange sort of smokiness assailed his sensitive nose, but he suspected that might be a less lingering issue. He had certainly grown accustomed to the smell of dwarf quickly enough, after all, and now found it quite soothing.

The noise of Lake Town was something of a comfort, at least. Louder than Hobbiton, but the sounds of lives being lived, of laughter, bartering, greetings between neighbours, all made his heart lighter. The dungeons of the Woodland Realm had been quiet, unbearably so, and though his friends had been scattered about in various cells around him, he had felt painfully isolated more often than not. This bustle was welcome by comparison, especially now most of the company had left, and with Gandalf soon to follow.

Suddenly the cramped boardwalk opened out to something like a town square, strangely empty of people. Bilbo slowed and looked up at the huge building (at least by the standards of the other, cramped, crooked homes and shops that seemed to be all wedged together before this) and recognised the vaulted roof as the one that Bert had pointed out to him earlier.

"Come along, Bilbo," Gandalf called. "Don't dilly-dally."

Realising Gandalf was now standing at the doors to the building, Bilbo hurried across and followed the wizard as he knocked with the top of his staff. The hobbit couldn't help but wince as a small dent appeared in the paint, and remembered his own door at Bag End was likely sporting similar marks.

"Let me deal with this, my friend," Gandalf warned quietly. "I know these men, and I mean to leave you in the best position I'm able before I take my leave."

Bilbo nodded, glad to rely on the wizard while he still could. Something about Gandalf never failed to make him feel safe, and he had begun to remember that all three previous times the wizard had left them, they had gotten into some quite serious trouble.

When no sound came from within, Gandalf knocked on the door once again, harder this time. There was a long moment of silence, before hurried steps could be heard and whispered cursing, before the door creaked open and a quite unfortunate looking face popped out.

"What?" snapped the man, his whole demeanour irritable. "Who're you?"

For a moment Bilbo panicked. Was this the wrong building? Had they somehow knocked on the door of a private residence, rather than the town hall?

"Alfrid Lickspittle," Gandalf intoned, sounding thoroughly unimpressed with, what Bilbo assumed, was the man's name. "We met briefly some four years ago when I was last passing through, and I rendered a service upon your Master."

The rather greasy looking man didn't budge even an inch, and eyed Gandalf suspiciously. Bilbo could tell he had absolutely no idea who the wizard was, and didn't look in the slightest like he was interested in finding out.

Gandalf drew himself up in that vaguely threatening way of his. "Myself and my companion are here to see the Master of Lake Town."

The man's attention turned to Bilbo for the first time, and there was something incredibly unpleasant about the way he looked the hobbit up and down, curling his lip in open disgust.

"He's a very busy man," said Alfrid snidely, turning back to the wizard. "Too busy to see beggars off the street. Now get lost!"

Bilbo knew it was a mistake immediately, for as much as he might jab a little at Gandalf when he was feeling particularly grumpy, there was a definitive line you just did not cross. Alfrid didn't seem to know where the line was. Or even, perhaps, that there was one.

True to form, Galdalf slammed the heel of his staff down to the ground and the doors were suddenly blasted open by some sort of unseen force. Alfrid fell back onto the floor as though knocked over by a very strong gust of wind. The worn little velveteen cap he was wearing fell off his head, and he scrabbled about on the floor to try and right himself again. Gandalf strode into the hall, tall and imposing as he stood over the now clearly terrified man, whose whole attitude had changed as he stumbled back up to his feet unsteadily and bowed low.

"He will see me," Gandalf warned, his tone brooking no argument. "Take us to him immediately."

"Yes m'lord," Alfrid wheedled. "At once m'lord!"

The man hurried off down the cluttered hallway with a slight limp to his gait, that Bilbo vaguely hoped hadn't been caused by his fall. Gandalf gave the hobbit a quick motion of his head to follow, then strode purposefully after Alfrid. Staying behind the wizard, but keeping close, Bilbo glanced about their surroundings.

This building was richly decorated, but everything was worn and old. Not in a nice, homely way, either. Not like the furniture in Bag End, which were almost all inherited from family over the years, but well loved and meticulously cared for. The furnishings and ornaments in this place had been left to rot, a symbol of wealth and power that was long since lost, but clung to for the sake of appearances. For prestige.

More than the rest of Lake Town -little as he had seen of it, so far- which had seemed poor, but lively with a strong sense of community, this place was empty, cold, and uncomfortable. Hobbits could tell a lot about a person based on how they chose to live, it was simply ingrained culturally. Perhaps the other races might find it judgemental, but to a hobbit, the things people chose to care about and display around themselves spoke volumes.

For example, the dwarrow could very easily be misconstrued as messy, sloppy, and uncaring, but after travelling with them for so long, Bilbo knew better. He had seen the attention they took over their hair, their braids and beads. The way they tended to their weapons and gear, but more than that, the way they cared for one another. The dwarrow valued their kith and kin more highly than anything, and he couldn't help but love them for it.

Walking behind Gandalf, Bilbo took in the stained robes of Alfrid Lickspittle, patches worn in the velvet, moth-eaten and fraying at the edges. He glanced again at the dust-thick furniture, books strewn about on the floor, wax stains from candles spilled across shelves and tables. He wondered silently what this man and the Master of Lake Town valued, trying not to lean into his supposition that their top priority seemed to be status and power.

It didn't help matters that his opinion was already highly coloured by Gandalf's own words about the pair only that morning around the campfire. He rather hoped they could get what they needed from this place then stay as far away as possible for the duration of their stay. Bilbo silently admitted that he wouldn't be sorry if he never stepped foot in this building ever again.

Finally they reached a large door and Alfrid didn't even hesitate before throwing it open and scurrying inside and bowing low as Gandalf strode in. Bilbo slowed, unsure if he ought not wait outside, and caught the angry, hateful look Alfrid levelled at Gandalf's back. Feeling oddly protective of his friend -for all he knew the wizard was more than capable of looking after himself, and much more than a hobbit might, Bilbo steeled himself to follow. Gandalf, however, turned and stopped him.

"You wait outside, my friend," he motioned to a small collection of chairs out in the hallway. "This will not take long."

"If you say so," Bilbo nodded, trying not to glance at the keenly watching Alfrid. "Call if you need me, won't you?"

The words sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, for what help could he possibly be, when all was said and done? Still, Gandalf's expression softened and he smiled fondly, placing a gnarled hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"I will, my friend. Thank you." He said gently, then turned into the large, ornate (but cluttered) library, throwing his hands up in greeting. "Master Othur! Forgive my unexpected arrival..."

Bilbo backed up into the hallway once again, even as Alfrid scowled down at him, before promptly slamming the door in his face. Well, he thought to himself, placing his hands in his pockets with a small sigh. It wasn't the rudest someone had been to him since he first left the Shire, at any rate. It was close, though.

Swinging his leg a little playfully, he turned into the hallway and went to sit on the chairs Gandalf had motioned towards. As he did so, however, the door behind him opened once more, and Alfrid exited, clearly seething. It was all Bilbo could do not to laugh as he realised the dreadful man had been kicked out, too. Mustering all his hobbitish courtesy, he bowed, then gestured to a chair.

"May I?"

Alfrid ignored his polite enquiry, leaving him standing. Still, he seemed ever so slightly curious about Bilbo then, despite the glare he continued to level at him. "Servant, are you?"

"More of a general assistant," Bilbo hedged. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't strictly true either. He was currently employed as a burglar, but no actual burglary had happened so far. Instead it had mostly been cooking, foraging, acting as a sort of diplomatic go-between for the dwarves, an occasional lookout, and a scout more often than not. Still, as he had mentioned to Dwalin, it seemed unwise to advertise the fact of his formal job description, so this suited his needs a little better.

"Hmph," Alfrid continued to watch him suspiciously. "You wasn't with him the last time."

"No," Bilbo agreed. "We set out together in April, some seven months ago now."

It was quite interesting that Alfrid suddenly seemed to remember Gandalf's last visit. Bilbo wondered if he had recognised him immediately and pretended otherwise, or if being knocked onto his backside by a blast of magic had jogged his memory.

"What's 'e want?" Alfrid drawled, lounging against the doorframe.

"Now there's a question," Bilbo replied, pursing his lips a little and thinking hard. "I'm sure I couldn't say for certain. He seems to know what he's about, and he seems to know a good deal more than the rest of us, but I often wonder how much of it is guesswork. Still, he's been a friend to me, as well as my mother and grandfather, and more besides, I shouldn't wonder. I've known him all my life in one guise or another, and I trust him. Yes. I think perhaps whatever he wants is for the greater good, at the very least."

Bilbo looked up again to the slimy-looking man, and found he was staring at him like he was some sort of imbecile. "I mean what's 'e want here? With the Master?"

"Oh!" Bilbo blinked in surprise. "I believe he's looking to get myself and three of our friends settled here for the next few months."

"Why?" The question was snapped back immediately.

"He's travelling on his own for a little while," Bilbo shrugged, not wanting to give away too much, but not wanting to feed into Alfrid's clear suspicion by withholding everything. "He wanted to leave us in a place of safety, until he can come back to collect us and we set off once again."

"Won't find no charity here, halfling," Alfrid spat, and Bilbo felt his polite smile fade a little. "If you wanna stay, you gotta work."

"We mean to work," Bilbo said. "And I'm a hobbit, thank you. Not a halfling."

Alfrid smiled then, a cold, cruel curling of his thin mouth, and Bilbo's own smile fell away entirely at the sight of it. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew he would be calling him a halfling for as long as the unfortunate acquaintance continued.

"And just what sort of work are you meaning to do, halfling?" the man immediately fulfilled every expectation Bilbo had of him. "Yer exotic looking, I'll give you that, but there ain't no brothels in Lake Town."

Being called a 'ferret' by a troll had probably been the most insulting thing anyone had ever said to Bilbo in all his life, until this moment.

"Perhaps your Master is in need of an assistant?" Bilbo said coldly.

"He's got an assistant," Alfrid hissed back, baring his yellowed, rotten teeth.

"Perhaps he'd like a better one."

"You don't want to make an enemy of me, halfling," Alfrid warned, stalking towards where he still stood in the middle of the hallway. There was a look in his eyes that made Bilbo wish for Sting, or at least some way he could defend himself from the much larger man, even as he leant down, their faces close as he hissed. "The Master is the Master o'course, but me? I run this town, an' if you don't want to wait for your wizard from the inside of a cell, you better not forget it."

Bilbo was angry. He tried to smother it, knowing that to some extent what Alfrid was saying was true; making an enemy of the Master's right hand man -no matter his delusions of grandeur- was a mistake. They were already on thin ice here, Thorin fully expecting trouble, and Bilbo was really the only one left once Gandalf took his leave who might stand a chance of smoothing relations between the dwarrow and the men. He wouldn't be able to do that if he let his temper get the best of him now, he would only make things worse.

Thinking of the deep crease that appeared between Thorin's brows each time he got lost in his concerns, Bilbo willed himself to calm. He knew he was already a weak link in the chain, and he refused to cause the dwarf further worry if he could help it. Forcing himself to relax, Bilbo took a breath that he meant to push back out in an apology, but the door behind Alfrid suddenly opened, and the two of them jumped apart.

Gandalf stood in the doorway, staring hard at between them, and frowning. "Making friends, Bilbo?"

"You know me, Gandalf," Bilbo smiled wryly, avoiding the question. "Mister Lickspittle and I were just discussing the potential jobs available for me here in Lake Town."

The wizard said nothing, still fixing Bilbo with an appraising look, but behind him another voice boomed out. "Well lucky for you, my boy, there's no need to fret on that count! No, indeed!"

A portly, red faced man appeared, and Gandalf stepped to one side to allow him past. His hair was thinning, and grey in patches, as though some attempt had been made to dye it. His clothes were rich, but much like Alfrid, not well cared for. They were stained and worn, particularly down his front where he had clearly dropped food and wine, and everything he wore seemed ill-fitted. He had a scraggly beard and moustache, which might have been waxed, or perhaps simply full of grease from whatever was spilled down the front of his doublet.

"Bilbo Baggins," began Gandalf with a small nod. "May I present Lord Othur, the Master of Esgaroth on the Long Lake."

Bilbo immediately bowed low and formally. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

"You call him Sire!" corrected Alfrid immediately, though with a look of scorn rather than insult. "He's not some common country lord, halfling!"

They had no real hierarchy in the Shire. Oh, they had the Thane, of course, but no one minded Fortinbras, and the most he ever got was a polite 'mister' as a prefix. The faunts and tweens would call their elders sir, ma'am, or miss, but otherwise it was just about courtesy and the level of closeness you shared with whoever you were speaking to.

It had tripped him up a little when he had first learned that Thorin was technically a king, and Fili and Kili both princes. They had been well into their journey by then, and he had simply taken to calling them by their first names because that's what all the dwarrow seemed to do. It was a habit he felt was foolish to alter at that point, especially given no one had ever corrected him.

Suddenly Bilbo realised Gandalf was staring at him, waiting for something, and the hobbit realised his mind had wandered. He shook himself and opened his mouth to apologise, when the Master waved Alfrid aside.

"Now now, Bilbo does not yet know our ways. We must be charitable, for Gandalf says he is from the rural West," the Master laughed, as though this were something quite amusing, then leaned down to him slightly. "Sire is preferred, or my lord. I daresay we will have you whipped into shape well enough soon, never fear!"

Bilbo didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. "Thank you, my lord."

"Excellent!" the Master clapped his hands together. "Then take tomorrow to get yourself settled, new clothes and what have you, and report to Alfrid the day after, bright and early!"

Bilbo's heart immediately dropped into his stomach, and he whipped around to look at Gandalf. The wizard didn't look at him, instead inclining his head to the Master as he passed and went back into the library with a short wave of farewell. Alfrid, however, looked just as distressed as Bilbo felt, eyes wide and horrified, before he too turned to hurry after the Master.

"Sire?" he whined a little desperately. "Sire, what d'you mean? What just happened, Sire? Sire?"

The door was slammed behind the two men, and Gandalf finally turned to Bilbo. A rueful smile tilted his mouth, causing his long beard to twitch slightly, and he leaned on his staff. "You have been too long in the company of dwarves, my friend, if I cannot leave you for even a short time without you starting an argument with someone."

Bilbo bit down on the hundred retorts fighting to escape in that moment. He hadn't started the argument, Alfrid had all but called him a harlot! It hadn't been an argument, either! And he certainly would have held his tongue better if he'd known that Gandalf meant for him to be employed here, with the very man that the wizard himself had referred to as cruel only hours before!

"Come," said Gandalf, apparently sensing that he was not going to get the desired response from Bilbo then. "Let us leave this place, so we may speak more freely."

He turned to leave, and Bilbo followed, albeit a little stiffly.

"I suppose you did get everyone's permits?" Bilbo asked, his voice more annoyed than he could smother.

"Of course," Gandalf replied, reaching into his robes and putting out four, very official looking documents, and handing them down to the hobbit as they continued on their way. "Lord Othur owes me a favour, and I have called it in to set you up as best I can."

"By getting me a job I can't possibly refuse without causing insult to a very powerful man you called greedy, selfish, and dishonourable only this morning," Bilbo bit out, snatching the permits bad-temperedly. "And his lackey who you quite rightly claimed is cruel and crafty, and who, rather unfortunately, has decided he doesn't care for me very much at all!"

Gandalf said nothing to this. In fact, there was no reaction from the wizard in the slightest. Not even so much as a glance in his direction. They simply continued to walk through the corridor towards the doors out of the Town Hall, and Bilbo tucked the four permits into his pocket.

If Bilbo was angry before, he was positively fuming now. It was just like the beginning of this whole blasted quest all over again! Gandalf dragged him into trouble with no warning, no explanation, and just thought he would fall into line. And he had the first time! And truly he didn't regret it, not really... How could he? It had been uncomfortable and difficult and deeply unpleasant at times, but he had seen so much, learnt a lot about himself, and the world outside the Shire. More than that, he had cultivated thirteen relationships across the Company. Some stronger than others, granted, but all of them stronger than any bond he had with anyone back home.

As they left the building, he watched with a frown as Gandalf turned and closed the doors behind them with care. He was still angry, of course he was, but as they continued to walk a little more sedately back along the boardwalk, Bilbo realised it was actually fourteen relationships. As he had told Alfrid, he had known Gandalf all his life, though mostly at the very beginning of it. The wizard had been a frequent visitor when his mother had been alive. It was only after her death that he seemed to vanish, and Bilbo had quite forgotten him.

The fact was, he did trust Gandalf. He was a family friend, and that counted for a lot amongst hobbits. Bilbo in particular, as his own nuclear family was nothing to speak of now, alone as he was save for a great many distant cousins. Gandalf knew him, as none of the dwarrow did, and for all he had been in danger since he had left Bag End, he believed this wizard to be his friend. He would not put him in any situation if he didn't believe he could handle it. Bilbo didn't like the current situation, but he had to take some small measure of comfort in that.

By the time they crossed through the market, now much emptier as stalls were packing up and being cleared away, Bilbo felt a little better. The setting sun was shining orange on the surface of the vast lake, painting everything in a warm glow. It was quite beautiful, for all the sloshing water beneath his feet made him a little queasy.

They stopped outside of the Inn, and Gandalf sat on a bench overlooking the water. Bilbo was surprised, thinking they would go in right away and tell Thorin the news, but as Gandalf took out his pipe, offering Bilbo from his personal stock of Longbottom Leaf (how he had managed to make it last so long was beyond Bilbo - his own has disappeared before they had even reached Rivendell!) the hobbit sat beside him and accepted.

For long moments their silence continued as they both settled into smoking companionably, until Gandalf eventually cleared his throat.

"I need you in there," he said, his voice even and calm, though he still continued to avoid Bilbo's eye, staring out across the lake. "There is much I can see, my friend, but there is much more I cannot, and it worries me."

"What can you see?" Bilbo asked curiously.

For a long moment, Gandalf seemed to consider this. He puffed on his pipe, then blew out a long, swirling cloud of smoke. "I see what could be, and I see what might have been."

"And what is that?" Bilbo pressed, unable to help himself. He was rarely satisfied with half answers, and this wasn't even as much as half.

"I see that today might have still ended much like this, with the two of us sharing a pipe," Gandalf's eyes closed, his brow drawn as he seemed to be concentrating. "If not for Thranduil's interference, you might have taken a grievous wound that would pain you for all your days. The mountain reclaimed, but paid for in the blood of many, including three of our Company, gone to the halls of their ancestors in pain, fear... and shame."

Terror clutched at Bilbo's chest, the words of the wizard sinking into his skin and filling his veins like bitter ice water. He stared up at his friend in silent devastation. The full weight of dread and possibility made his head spin, and he vaguely wondered if this was why Gandalf was always so cryptic in his responses. Sick at heart, Bilbo wished he had never asked.

"Can..." he began, but paused when his voice came out choked and afraid. "Can we... stop it?"

"Oh well, we already have!" Gandalf looked surprised. "Or Thranduil has, I should say, though I would never tell him as much. Nor Thorin, for that matter."

Bilbo felt a little stab of annoyance at that, and fiddled with his pipe. "I see. You were just trying to scare me, then."

Gandalf regarded him steadily for a long moment, eyes steely and serious. He took a long pull of his pipe, then rumbled out a reply. "Make no mistake, Bilbo Baggins, scaring you was precisely what I was trying to do. I do not share these dark tidings lightly. We have been bought time, a year of borrowed time, and we must not waste it."

It was almost more ominous than the warning itself, and Bilbo's mind filled with the faces of each of his friends, wondering who might have perished if they had entered the mountain on Durin's Day as planned this year. He couldn't imagine the loss of any of them, and didn't want to. Not for even a moment. It broke his heart.

He puffed on his pipe, finding comfort in the taste and scent of the Longbottom Leaf, then nodded. "What can I do?"

"Listen," Gandalf responded. "Watch. I have placed you close to Lord Othur because you will be in a primary position to hear and report any strange rumours."

Bilbo didn't much like the idea of snooping, for all it was a fairly common practice in the Shire. Hobbits were notorious gossips, but Bilbo, while good at eeking out information when necessary, had always done his best not to get too involved in such things. He had remained respectable, clinging to it for years now, only to have tossed it aside to come running after thirteen dwarrow and a wizard, to be a burglar of all things, and now apparently a spy, too.

He thought of young Ori, gentle and kind and inexperienced, for all he put on a much braver face than Bilbo himself had ever mustered. He thought about how he would likely be the easiest to fall victim to any violence, and how his loss would hurt not only his two brothers, but all of them. Steeling himself against such a fate for the boy -for any of them- Bilbo once again set aside his respectability. Fat lot of good it had done him up til now, anyway.

"Very well," he agreed. "Is there anything in particular I should be listening for?"

Gandalf smiled kindly at him and patted his shoulder. "You will know it when you hear it, my friend. Report anything back to me, and in Sindarin, I think. Less likely for the wrong sort to translate."

Not at all certain what he meant by 'the wrong sort', Bilbo simply nodded again, somehow not wanting to know any further blunt truths from the wizard. "Anything else?"

"Keep an eye on Thorin, will you?" Gandalf said lightly, something like amusement colouring his words. "He's stubborn, that one."

Bilbo choked out a laugh around the stem of his pipe. "Well goodness me, Gandalf! Thank you for your enlightenment, I'm certain I would never have figured that out by myself!"

"Hm," Gandalf smiled. "These men will be the closest neighbours Erebor will have, if Thorin should succeed in reclaiming his home. I would ask that you help him remember that."

"When," Bilbo corrected, a little firmly. "When Thorin succeeds. And he's been a leader of his people far longer than I've even been alive, Gandalf. I'm sure he doesn't need my help with any such thing."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Bilbo," the wizard said, standing from the bench and looking down at him with great seriousness. "Even the smallest person can change the course of history."

Bilbo leaned back and closed his eyes thoughtfully. "Perhaps, but despite whatever you and Balin and anyone else who keeps hinting that Thorin somehow needs me to look after him thinks, I'm quite sure the last thing he would tolerate is being coddled by a hobbit, of all things."

"You'd be surprised," came Dwalin's voice from behind him, causing said hobbit to near jump clean out of his skin. Bilbo whipped around, heart pounding at the thought Thorin might be there also, and was vastly relieved to find the other dwarf quite alone. Still, there was a smirk on his face that immediately was quite irritating.

"That's precisely what your brother said," Bilbo snapped bad-temperedly. "What is it I'm supposed to be surprised about, that's what I'd like to know. Aside from you sneaking up on me and listening in to a private conversation, that is."

Dwalin actually laughed then, a short bark of hilarity that Bilbo had only ever seen from the warrior perhaps once or twice on their journey so far, and certainly not while in his company. Something in Bilbo softened at the sound, pleased to have made the usually quiet and stony dwarrow laugh so.

"It means you'd be surprised what Thorin would be willing to put up with from you, lad," Dwalin grinned. "In damn good need of a good coddling, I expect."

Bilbo felt his face heat up immediately, something about the way the dwarf spoke making his otherwise innocent phrasing sound absolutely filthy. He looked quickly to Gandalf, perhaps for help or even just confirmation that he wasn't imagining the tone being lowered. Or at least, he would have done, if the wizard were there.

"Where did Gandalf go?" he asked, standing and looking around quickly.

"Left a while back," Dwalin shrugged.

"He just left?" Bilbo gaped, utterly scandalised by Gandalf's behaviour and poor manners. "He didn't even say goodbye!"

Dwalin only shrugged again. "Does he ever?"

Looking along down the boardwalk that his friend must have left by (unless he had vanished in a puff of magical smoke, of course, which wasn't entirely out of the realms of possibility) Bilbo wished they'd had more time. He was concerned by everything Gandalf had told him, worried about the future and his role in things. It was painfully obvious that he was about to spend the next year of his life in a very dangerous and uncomfortable position, and it would have been nice to dig in a little further about what the wizard expected of him. He shivered.

"Come on, lad," Dwalin interrupted his quickly darkening thoughts. "You promised Thorin you'd be back by nightfall, and he was getting antsy enough that I offered to come keep an eye out for you. Best head inside if you're done."

Bilbo nodded mutely, tapping his pipe out on the edge of the bench and tucking it away in his breast pocket to clean properly later. No good worrying, he told himself as he stood and wandered towards the door to the Inn with Dwalin. He'd learnt much the past six months of travel, not least that there were some things you just had to grit your teeth and make the best of.

In fact, he was getting rather good at it.

Chap 6    

Dwalin led him through the bustling tap room, past the bar, and weaving through the various tables and clusters of chairs where small groups of men sat together drinking, talking, and eating. Bilbo's stomach gave a low rumble at the scent of food, and he was glad for the chatter around them to hide the sound. They passed a merrily burning fireplace with a couple of beaten old armchairs and a low table, which Bilbo cast a quick, longing glance towards before they went to a dark corner on the far side of the room.

Thorin and Nori were sat in the shadows, watching as Bilbo and Dwalin approached, and the hobbit couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed. This false-mysteriousness and obvious show of mistrust towards the men wasn't going to help matters at all. It wasn't lost on Bilbo that Thorin was facing out into the room, glaring at anyone who so much as looked their way. Perhaps Gandalf hadn't been entirely wrong about reminding the dwarf king how to be neighbourly, after all.

"Bilbo!" cried Nori, standing immediately and looking excited. "Did you do it? Did you get the work permits?"

"Actually, Gandalf did," Bilbo took three of the four permits out of his pocket and placed them down on the table. "Direct from the hand of Lord Othur himself, I believe. We shouldn't have any trouble on that score, at least."

"Yes!" Nori was on his feet then, and snatched up one of the permits. He cast a quick eye over it, then grinned at Bilbo and clapped him on the shoulder. "Be right back!"

There was a faint growl from Dwalin as Nori passed, and Bilbo looked on in surprise as the burly dwarf snatched up his own permit. He then stomped to the chair to Thorin's right and all but threw himself down in what might otherwise be referred to as a fit of pique. Thorin, for his part, ignored these peculiar antics, and reached across to pick up the last of the permits. Like Nori, he looked the little card over, perhaps searching for anything untoward, before nodding towards the seat on his left without so much as glancing up.

"Sit down, Master Baggins. We've a plate ready for you."

Bilbo then noticed the plate set on the table, with another upturned carefully over the top to keep the warmth in, and felt his stomach rumble again. For a moment he thought he might have gotten away with the sound being hidden by the noise of the tap room once again, until he saw Thorin's mouth quirk up at the corners slightly.

"Thank you," Bilbo mumbled, flushing as he took up the seat. Thorin said nothing.

Lifting the plate, Bilbo found fish, potatoes, some sort of cooked, leafy greens, and a torn lump of bread. It was quite likely he was going to be eating a great deal of fish for the foreseeable, but he didn't mind it at all. He tucked in happily to the food, genteel as always in his table manners, but eager to fill the emptiness in his stomach as quickly as he was able.

"Look at him," Dwalin grumbled, face like thunder. "Flirting."

Mouth full of whatever the blanched greens were (he suspected some sort of aquatic weed from the lake, if the taste was anything to go by) Bilbo followed the dwarf's gaze to where it had settled on Nori. Their friend was sitting on a bar stool and talking animatedly to a rather handsome, greying man just perhaps on the tail end of middle age. He couldn't hear what was being said, but saw that the man was holding Nori's new work permit as they chatted.

"He's just being friendly," Bilbo answered with a frown, confused.

"Too friendly," Dwalin snapped back. "I ought to go over there and drag the wretch back before he does something we'll all regret."

"Now just hold on," Bilbo began, upset on Nori's behalf enough that he put his fork down. "He's not doing anything wrong."

"Pah!" Dwalin scoffed and shook his head. "Of course you'd think that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bilbo gasped, but Thorin's fingers briefly touched his shoulder and stopped any further outrage from escaping the hobbit's mouth.

"Dwalin..." Thorin said, his tone low in warning. Dwalin looked at Bilbo then, somehow contrite, and sighed.

"It's different with you, lad, we all know that's just how you are. Friendly, like. Nori knows better, though."

"Better than what?" Bilbo questioned, feeling once again like he had missed some crucial part of this whole conversation.

"Flirting!" Dwalin snapped once again, and Bilbo huffed out a long, slow sigh.

It had been a long, trying day, and he felt he was starting to feel like he had long since reached the limits of his patience with the world. Nori would no doubt come back over any moment to give the news he had landed himself work already, or perhaps found some promising leads, and that would be the end of it. He wasn't about to sit here arguing with a cranky dwarf who wasn't even making any sense.

Just as he decided this, he heard Nori calling him over the hubbub, and looked up to see his friend trying to wave him over. Curious beyond reason, Bilbo went to stand, only to find Thorin's hand back on his shoulder, more firmly this time, and keeping him in place.

"Eat your supper, Master Baggins," Thorin told him gently, despite the glare he was levelling at poor Nori. "It will grow cold."

Bilbo looked helplessly at his friend watching from the bar, and to his credit, Nori only smirked and rolled his eyes, as though his king weren't glowering quite fiercely in his direction. Thorin was right of course, the food was growing cold, and Bilbo was still hungry. For the sake of an easy life, he didn't argue, and once he continued to eat again, Thorin removed his hold on him.

"I've got a job!" Nori crowed a few moments later, as he returned to the table. Bilbo tried his level best not to feel too smug about it. "John, the landlord, says he'll pay me five coppers a week to tend the bar for him!"

"Well done, Nori!" Blbo congratulated his friend, even as Dwalin huffed.

"Five coppers? That's low. You should look elsewhere."

"It's a poor town," Nori shrugged aside the criticism easily. "And it's a reliable income. Beggars can't be choosers, Dwalin, and it's something honest that I've got experience in. He's looking for a cook too, Bilbo! Told him I'd ask you, since you're a dab hand in the kitchen."

Bilbo's heart sank at this. It would have been perfect for him, doing something he enjoyed and was good at. He felt bereft to think of what a pleasure it would be to cook properly again, to run a kitchen, even if it weren't his own.

"I found a job already," Bilbo admitted, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt. "Well, Gandalf found me a job, I should say. At the Town Hall."

"Oh really?" Nori tilted his head to the side, clever eyes seeing too much, Bilbo was sure. "Doing what?"

It occurred to Bilbo then that he had absolutely no idea. Gandalf had given him no details at all, no job description, no role title, no wage expectation. He swallowed.

"As a scribe," he lied, certain it wouldn't be far from the truth. "Directly under the Master of Lake Town, from what I can tell."

"From what you can tell?" Dwalin choked. "Don't you know?"

"I..." Bilbo began, floundering. "Well, Gandalf rather sorted it out behind closed doors, and then... well. Then he left."

Dwalin had the look of someone who had accidentally swallowed a fly. It would have been comical under other circumstances.

"What do you know, then?" Nori pressed, looking a little shocked himself.

"Just that I'm to report to Lord Othur's assistant at dawn the day after tomorrow," Bilbo realised how ridiculous this all sounded, and again cursed Gandalf for not ever telling him the things he needed to know. "And I'm to dress appropriately."

Dwalin made a strangled little sound that didn't seem like the kind of noise the big warrior was even capable of making. "You don't know your wages? Job expectations? Hours of work? Laddie! I know you Shire-folk are a peculiar lot, but I thought you were smarter than that!"

He sounded so much like Balin then, that Bilbo flushed with embarrassment. He glanced at Nori, only to find no help there - the dwarf looked absolutely incredulous. Already certain of what he would see next, he turned his attention to Thorin. He had expected to find their leader exasperated, mocking of his foolishness, perhaps. Instead, Thorin sat with his fingers laced together, knuckles white, and blue eyes thunderous. Bilbo immediately quailed under the look, even as Thorin's lips pressed together into a thin, furious line.

"Have you seen a contract?" he asked, his deep voice clipped. "Have you signed anything?"

Bilbo shook his head, and some of the tension seemed to leave his companions. He knew full well that dwarrow took such matters seriously, and in truth if he had really thought about it, he should have realised they wouldn't want him in the Town Hall any more than he wanted to be there. He should have asked more questions of Gandalf, found out the basics at least, but the whole thing had truly knocked him for a loop.

"Then you will not be taking the job," Thorin told him decisively. "You should consider the position here, where you will be safe and out of the way."

From the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw Nori shaking his head quickly at Thorin and holding up his hands as if to try and stop the words that had already escaped. Thorin, of course, paid him no mind, and Bilbo met his furious, but firm gaze with a snap of annoyance.

"I don't think that's up to you, as it happens," he set his jaw as he stared the dwarf king down. "I can be just as out of your way in the Town Hall as in the kitchen."

Thorin's mouth parted slightly, and his eyes widened. "That's not what I... Master Baggins, Gandalf himself warned us that these men are dangerous. Vicious and cruel. I would not have you tangled up in their nest of vipers!"

Part of Bilbo knew that what Thorin was saying was right, and he was only echoing his own misgivings from not too long ago. He didn't want to go back to that place, never wanted to set eyes on the Master or Alfrid for as long as he lived. But Thorin didn't know what Bilbo knew. He didn't know that they might have gained the mountain, but lost three of their friends. How would Thorin live with something like that? Bilbo knew full well that Thorin would have blamed himself, and while Gandalf had claimed that fate was past, that it had been changed, there was nothing to say it might not still come about a year later. The fact that there was even a potential for something like that to happen had shaken Bilbo to his core. There was still danger, or Gandalf wouldn't have given him such a dire warning.

"Gandalf wants me in there," Bilbo lifted his chin. "I told him I would do it, and I will."

"That wizard is the reason you've seen such peril in the first place!" Thorin snapped. "Can he not be satisfied? Can't you? Must you constantly-?"

"Thorin, leave it," Dwalin cut in gruffly. Bilbo was glad for it, as Thorin's voice was growing louder and angrier, and people were beginning to stare. "The lad gave his word. You'll not sway him now, as well you know. Best let it alone."

Thorin looked away with a jerk of his head, gritting his teeth and biting back whatever angry words were clearly fighting to escape. Bilbo looked quickly at Dwalin, and saw the silent warning in his expression to keep quiet. For a moment Bilbo wondered how long Dwalin had been standing outside while he and Gandalf talked.

"You," Dwalin said firmly, jabbing a finger at Bilbo and interrupting his dark thoughts. "Get a contract. I mean it. All in writing and above board, and then you bring it back for us to look at before you sign, you understand?"

"Fine," Bilbo grumped, and Dwalin's eyebrows shot up. The hobbit held up his hands in placation. "Fine, I said. Much good may it do me."

"You already don't trust them?" Nori asked, a little hesitantly. "Bit worrying, Bilbo. You trust most folk until they give you a reason otherwise."

Thorin was looking at him again, the same fury of the previous conversation mixed with that deep, worried frown that drew his thick eyebrows together. Bilbo didn't like that little crease between his brows, it always made him want to do something to smooth it away, though he never knew what.

"I just mean the last contract I signed hasn't been of much help to me so far," Bilbo tried to deflect.

"If you had a problem with the terms of your contract, Master Baggins, you should have brought it up before you signed it," Thorin rumbled, his pride obviously prickled, and Bilbo hid his satisfaction at a successful diversion.

"I didn't read it fully," he admitted, and didn't miss the winces from the three dwarrow surrounding him. "I suspect it's long gone, by now."

"Balin has it," Thorin snapped. "Dwarven contracts are watertight, Master Baggins, in every possible way. I can have him send it back so you might read the terms of your employment properly, and raise any grievances you may have."

Bilbo once again began to work on his plate of food, quite cool by now, as Thorin had warned. He popped a bit of the bread into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"Isn't that a little too late?" he asked. "I've signed it, and I gave my word that I would help you. I shan't go back on that now."

Thorin seemed to soften a bit then, though he still appeared quite grumpy. "Of course you wouldn't. But the fact remains that I would have you treated fairly, and the situation has changed somewhat since we first set out. Amendments can be made."

"That's kind of you," Bilbo admitted, genuinely surprised by the offer. In truth, he had only meant to channel Thorin's anger down another avenue, to distract him and give him something else to think about. There had been no part of Bilbo that might have expected any such generosity. "I don't expect there to be any changes needed, though. I trust you."

Thorin sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face. It might have looked an irritable gesture, had there not been the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The smile vanished quickly though, and Thorin looked seriously at the hobbit as he finished eating at last.

"You will read your contract with the men," he told Bilbo resolutely. "And you will not sign it until we have checked it for you."

It cost Bilbo nothing to agree, so he nodded. "I already told Dwalin I would, so I will. Right now a more pressing concern is finding clothes... he was quite insistent on the matter."

Of course, it only seemed important because it had really been the only thing the Master had offered as far as expectation went. Bilbo looked down at his heavily mended jacket and waistcoat, and remembered what stock Lord Othur and Alfrid had placed on outward appearances. In truth, he had been much the same before he ran out his door on this hairbrained quest, his wardrobe at Bag End filling an entire room. It was funny how his priorities had shifted so much, now he thought about it.

"I can help you with that," Nori nudged him with a smile. "I wasn't much for sewing or knitting, but I couldn't escape Dori's tutelage completely, no matter how hard I tried."

Dwalin snorted a laugh and winked at Bilbo. "And he really did try, slippery little git."

"Time better spent perfecting other skills, you may recall," Nori fluttered his eyes at Dwalin in a highly playful manner.

Bilbo assumed he meant his slightly less reputable skills as a thief of sorts, but Dwalin actually went a bit red in the face even as he grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Bilbo's confusion was only made worse when Thorin chuckled quietly, trying to hide it behind a cough when Dwalin turned a baleful gaze upon his king.

"Anyway Bilbo," Nori continued as though the whole exchange had not taken place, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I expect I've enough skill with a needle to alter some things for you. We could go out to the market tomorrow morning and have a look around, if you want?"

"Thank you, Nori," Bilbo smiled. "I'd like that. I'm not too shabby at mending clothes, and I've a good eye for fabric, but I wouldn't know the first thing about alterations."

"You'll stay together," Thorin interrupted, his tone implacable as always. He looked at Bilbo as though he expected him to argue, but the hobbit simply shook his head.

"I'd prefer that, at least until I get used to how big everything is here. I'm afraid I might get trampled otherwise. Or worse, accidentally knocked into the lake and drowned."

He was suddenly struck by the realisation that there was a void of deep, cold water beneath his feet, even now. It was easier to forget here, inside the Inn, but as soon as he remembered once more, his stomach churned sickly.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" That little crease was back between Thorin's brows.

"Oh!" Bilbo looked up in surprise at the offer, and the earnest look on Thorin's face before he waved him aside. "No no, Nori and I will manage well enough, I'm sure. I'll have to get used to it fairly quickly anyway, if I'm to get myself about for the next eleven months. Besides, I expect you and Dwalin will be wanting to stick to your plan to find the smithy tomorrow, won't you?"

"Aye lad," said Dwalin. "Hopefully we'll find work as easily as you both have, but I'll not leave Thorin to wander this floating warren alone. Easily lost as he gets, we might never see him again!"

Bilbo felt like Dwalin was getting a little dig in after Thorin had laughed at his own expense only moments before, but they all chuckled together at the joke. It wasn't quite the same as having the rest of the company with them, but it helped the sudden loneliness Bilbo was feeling without the others. He wondered if they were all feeling it.

They stayed in the tap room for only a while longer, before they all agreed to retire for the night. It had been decided while Bilbo was with Gandalf that the four of them would share a room until they had a more steady stream of income, and could then easily see what they could afford month to month. Bilbo didn't mind the shared room, he already knew he had become so used to being surrounded by dwarrow while he took his rest, he'd likely struggle without them now.

"It'll be strange not hearing Bombur snoring," Bilbo smiled wistfully as they all headed up to the room together.

"If by strange, you mean peaceful," scoffed Nori. "I won't miss keeping watch, that's for sure."

"Who said we wouldn't be maintaining the watch?" Thorin asked lightly, stopping before a door and unlocking it with a large, old looking key.

"You've got to be joking!" Nori cried, clearly horrified. "You wouldn't make us do that, not behind a door that locks?"

Thorin didn't say anything, he simply held open the door for them to pass through, and lifted a wide shoulder in a half-shrug. Nori looked like he was going to stand and argue the point, but Dwalin dropped a large hand on the back of his neck and steered him inside the room with a smirk. When Thorin looked at Bilbo, he raised his brows as though challenging him to try and quarrel with him too, but the hobbit could see the humour dancing in those blue eyes and nudged him playfully as he walked past.

"Bully," he whispered as he passed, and Thorin snorted a short little laugh.

The room was not a large one, but it was cosy. A small fire was burning low in the little grate, and two, rickety wooden chairs were arranged before it, atop a small, threadbare rug that was stained with soot. At the other end of the room, almost opposite the tiny fireplace, was a small, grubby looking window. There wasn't much of a view to speak of, and Bilbo noted they were on the wrong side of the building to catch a glimpse of Erebor, but it would be enough to let some sunlight in during the daytime.

What really captured Bilbo's attention, however, were the four, large beds, headboards pushed up against the walls, two aside and facing one another. They were, of course, only large because they were sized for men, but Bilbo was thrilled at the prospect anyway. The bedding was old and mismatched, but it looked clean, and each was topped with a thick blanket and, luxury of all luxuries, a pillow.

Thorin locked the door behind them all, and Bilbo could see from the way the packs were laid out that he was to sleep in the far corner of the room, near the window. Nori opposite him, Thorin to his right, and Dwalin beside the door. Unable to contain his excitement, he headed over and collapsed onto the mattress with a long, gratuitous moan of pleasure.

It wasn't a good bed, not by any stretch of the imagination. The mattress was old and lumpy, and the wooden frame squeaked under even his meagre weight, but he didn't care. He sighed happily as he sank into the soft, welcome bedding, his whole body aching as he did so.

Then he realised there was dead silence in the room, and glanced up to find his companions all looking at him. Nori and Dwalin, for their part, looked deeply amused by his behaviour.

Thorin looked scandalised.

He had frozen mid-step, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he stared at Bilbo sprawled out on the bed. When their eyes met, Thorin turned away very quickly, grabbing a poker from the fire and quite vigorously stoking the embers.

"You alright there, burglar?" Dwalin sounded heavily entertained, and Nori choked back a laugh. "D'you and the bed need to be alone for a bit?"

Bilbo couldn't help but laugh at that, too. It had been a bit of a vulgar sound, he supposed, though Thorin was acting a bit like an old prude if that's what had bothered him so much.

"Sorry," Bilbo apologised, standing to slip off his jacket and waistcoat. "I just forgot how good it felt to lay on a mattress. It's been months!"

"Aye, not even at the shapeshifter's did we have beds," Dwalin agreed, looking slyly at Thorin as he sat in one of the chairs at the fireplace, his back to the rest of the room. "Last beds we all saw was that elven place, wasn't it, Thorin?"

Thorin only grunted in reply, and as Bilbo untied his ascot, sliding it from around his neck, he frowned with concern at their leader. He glanced back at Dwalin and Nori, who were both doing the same as he and undressing for sleep. Nori suddenly wouldn't meet his eye, for all he looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Dwalin only shrugged.

"Are you not coming to bed, Thorin?" Bilbo asked as he removed his braces from his shoulders. There was another muffled snort of laughter from Nori, but he ignored it.

"I will sit up a while yet," Thorin said quietly, a strange note to his voice that Bilbo didn't recognise. "Good night, Master Baggins."

For a moment Bilbo considered going over to the dwarf and trying to coax him into sleep, knowing he hadn't rested well for many nights now. But, he also knew when he was being warned off, and didn't want to invoke Thorin's wrath by crossing boundaries. Besides, the bed was calling to him so sweetly, and Bilbo found he didn't want to resist it.

Unbuttoning his trousers so he was just in his shirt and smalls, Bilbo climbed up into the man-sized bed and tucked himself under the heavy blankets with a sigh of contentment. He was asleep so quickly and deeply, he didn't even hear whether or not Thorin took any rest that night.

Chap 7

Bilbo was used to waking early. If not from the trials of the journey, then from simply being a hobbit and rising before dawn each day habitually. Still, he was surprised when he woke to a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Bilbo," Thorin's low voice drifted into the realms of slumber, pulling him slowly back to consciousness. "Master Baggins. It's time to wake."

Bilbo's eyes fluttered open and he looked blearily about. It took him a moment to get his bearings, remembering they were at the Inn in Lake Town and not in an elven prison or bundled up on the hard ground on the road. He was warm and comfortable, and for the second night in a row, had slept very, very well. He yawned wide, and stretched with a sigh.

"Come," said Thorin from the darkness, his hand withdrawing as Bilbo moved. "I will wait for you downstairs."

Bilbo tried to rouse himself enough to respond, but Thorin was leaving already, candlelight from the hallway flooding the silent bedroom for only a moment as he opened the door, then closed it behind himself quietly. Today would be Bilbo's first day working at the Town Hall, and he was more than a little anxious about it. He wiggled out from under the heavy blankets, trying not to wrinkle his nose in distaste at the coldness of the outside world. He immediately headed over to the fireplace where the embers burned low, giving off a little warmth and a little light, and was pleased to find a pitcher of clean water being warmed by the hearth.

Thorin had obviously dressed and washed already, his own day also starting at dawn now he had managed to procure work at the local forge. He and Dwalin had gone as planned the day before, and both came back quiet and withdrawn. It transpired that the town blacksmith was willing to hire one of them only, and that after it was decided Thorin would be the one to take up the position, he would be paid by the week rather than by the job. This, Bilbo had come to understand, was not the usual or fair way of things, and the salary he had signed on for was a scanty three coppers a week.

When Nori had questioned this low wage, Thorin had laughed humourlessly and repeated the other dwarf's own words back at him. "Beggars can't be choosers."

Bilbo sighed quietly, recalling how low the mood had been the night before, and washed quickly with the warm water and soap that had been left out for him. He dried himself off with a clean, if old, towel and found the clothes Nori and he had spent the day altering after a fairly successful trip to the market. He now had three new shirts, two tunics (not too dissimilar from a waistcoat, only longer, and fastened with a belt in the same way the dwarrow and men dressed), two pairs of short trousers, and a thick jacket.

All of it had needed to be altered, mostly in the leg and sleeves, but they were thicker and warmer than his own clothes, and despite all of Nori's protestations, they were now a near perfect fit. He had taken to wearing his old shirt to bed at night, the room warm enough that he didn't need much else while under the bedding, but promised himself he would get a proper nightshirt as soon as he was able. The shirt he wore was, after all, a little short, and would not do if there was any kind of emergency that required him to jump straight out of bed. No without a risk of exposing himself, anyway.

Dressing quietly, not wanting to wake the other two sleeping dwarrow from their rest, Bilbo ran a brush through his hair -on both his head and feet- and cast one last look about the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Slipping out through the door, Bilbo felt decidedly twitchy. He locked the door with the second key, then slipped it under the crack at the bottom for Nori and Dwalin to use later, before heading downstairs on light feet. Thorin had the other key, and it had been decided that for the time being they would have to simply rotate them as best they could. Dwalin was still looking for work, but it seemed Nori would be tending the bar of the tap room for the afternoons and evenings, so it would be fairly easy for now.

Bilbo looked around the mostly empty tap room and saw Thorin at a table, waiting for him as promised. Bilbo smiled as he approached, partly in greeting, and partly because of the tea and breakfast already laid out.

"Morning, Mister Bilbo," said John, the landlord, when he spotted him. "Hot tea, eggs, toast, and smoked trout this morning. Tried to cook the eggs in water like you said, but didn't come out too well, I don't reckon."

Bilbo liked John, he reminded him a little of his neighbour, Hamfast, and he had a warmth about him that was comforting. He was pleased Nori had made friends with him so fast, and managed to land a job working with the friendly man. So far, he had been the only one they had crossed paths with that didn't seem to mind at all that they were three dwarrow and a hobbit. Of course, no one had been outrightly hostile towards Bilbo or Nori at the market the day before, but there had been a great deal of staring and whispers.

"It's just Bilbo, if you please, John," Bilbo corrected with a smile as he took a seat beside Thorin. "And not to worry, I can show you sometime, perhaps? I'm sure breakfast will be lovely either way."

Fresh water was something Lake Town was decidedly not lacking in, and it had occurred to Bilbo the day before that John might find it beneficial to poach eggs rather than fry them, especially with oil and butter being so scarce, and expensive. The two of them had sat at the bar the afternoon before while Nori had been working close to hand, discussing how water was purified for use, as well as recipes and food and ideas for dishes. John enjoyed dabbling at cooking, and did most of it himself here at The Laughing Pike, but had a very limited repertoire, and even more limited time. Bilbo, for his part, had been happy to help where he could.

"That'd be mighty handsome of you, Mister Bilbo," John replied, easily ignoring Bilbo's request to drop formalities. "Though if you find you change your mind about working in my kitchen, I can't say as I'd be sorry for it."

Bilbo could feel Thorin watching him, but smiled at the friendly landlord. "Thank you, John. It's a good offer, and I'll bear it in mind."

"As you say, Mister Bilbo, as you say," John replied with a nod. "Your friend there has asked for lunches to be packed. I'll just go fetch those for you and leave them on the bar."

Bilbo looked around at Thorin in surprise at the thoughtful gesture, but the dwarf continued to eat his own breakfast without so much as glancing up at him. Bilbo smiled, and lifted the plate covering his own breakfast. John had been right, the poached eggs didn't look all that good, but they were cooked and fresh, and Bilbo could certainly help the landlord with his technique.

"I don't suppose Dwalin cooks?" Bilbo asked, picking up the too large cutlery and tucking into his breakfast.

Thorin snorted a laugh. "Only if you wish to drive away all of Master John's patrons."

"Thought as much," Bilbo smirked, then gestured to the tea. "Shall I be mother?"

When it became apparent that Thorin had no idea what he was talking about, Bilbo went ahead and poured cups for them both, making sure to add a teaspoon of honey to the dwarf's as he knew he preferred. The honey had been a surprise, but it turned out that many denizens of Lake Town kept some sort of livestock. Chickens, pigs, and goats mostly, but John had told him that one of the families had a small collection of beehives.

Thorin watched him with a great sort of interest as he finished making their tea, but said nothing, and they continued to eat together in peace. When they were done, they took up the small, cloth-wrapped packages that contained luncheon which John had left for them, and Bilbo bid him a good day.

When they got outside the air was frigid, and Bilbo immediately fastened his jacket and slid on the mittens Ori had made for him, before turning to bid Thorin goodbye, too. He was surprised when the dwarf stepped around him, almost shepherding Bilbo to the inside of the boardwalk, and placed his hand between his shoulder blades as he had when they had first arrived at Lake Town.

"I will walk you to the Town Hall," Thorin told him, steering the hobbit forwards gently. "It's on my way."

Bilbo couldn't help but chuckle. "Are you just afraid you'll get lost without me?"

"Not in the slightest," Thorin replied airily, then glanced down at Bilbo with a quirk of his mouth. "Dwalin drew me a map."

They both laughed then, the sound a bright point in the otherwise dark morning. Bilbo tried not to think too hard about the warmth of Thorin's hand seeping through the layers of his clothes, or how he felt better and safer having him so close. He wasn't sure what had brought this sudden habit on, but he wasn't going to complain about it. It was possible Thorin simply felt bereft without as many to look after now they were only four, and Bilbo was perhaps the only one left who would tolerate such fussing. He certainly couldn't imagine Dwalin's reaction to Thorin steering him about, that was for certain.

"When do you expect to hear from the others?" Bilbo asked, his mind wandering back to how he missed the rest of their little family.

Thorin's face immediately settled into a deep frown, and he stared ahead as they walked. "It will take them a few weeks to reach the Iron Hills, then some time to settle enough that a missive may be sent. I do not expect to hear from them for at least a month."

"Ah," Bilbo looked down at his feet, then seeing the black water between the cracks of the flooring, he looked back ahead again, feeling himself pale.

Thorin sighed quietly. "Fret not, Master Baggins. I'm sure he will write as soon as he is able."

"I certainly hope so," Bilbo admitted, still very cross with Gandalf for leaving without a word, and in such a situation. "I had considered writing ahead, but I wasn't really sure if there was any point."

Thorin's hand suddenly fell away from its place at his back, and Bilbo looked up in surprise at his companion. His expression was decidedly pinched, and it occurred to him that Thorin was likely quite annoyed as well. After all, Gandalf hadn't bothered to take his leave from him, either. The wizard might be able to get away with that sort of behaviour with a simple hobbit of the Shire, but the rightful King of Durin's Folk? It wouldn't surprise him if Thorin had a proverbial bone to pick, himself.

"I doubt there is much point, as they will arrive before any courier could make the journey," Thorin replied, a little irritably. "But if it brings you comfort, you must do what you feel is right."

"Oh, I wouldn't say it would bring me comfort, as such," Bilbo huffed, unsure why he was being given the blunt end of Thorin's annoyance with the wizard. "Might just help me get rid of all the angry thoughts buzzing around my head, that's all."

"You have quarrelled?"

There was that peculiar note to Thorin's voice then, and Bilbo grimaced. He hadn't really spoken to anyone of his own annoyance with Gandalf, or what passed between them. He got the distinct impression that the wizard had only told him the things he had, under the understanding that it went no further. Bilbo had turned the problem over in his mind more than once, wondering if perhaps Thorin might disapprove of Bilbo spying, and knowing full well he didn't want the hobbit even working near the Master or Alfrid. He was likely concerned that Bilbo might blow their cover, or wear out their welcome, both of which were not unreasonable, given their precarious situation.

Bilbo shrugged. "He just took off without a word, and I dislike it when things aren't settled properly. I like to know where I am, you know."

They walked in silence for a moment, then, quite hesitantly, Thorin lay his hand back between Bilbo's shoulders. "He... has left you in a place of uncertainty?"

There was something worried in Thorin's eyes, and a spark of something Bilbo couldn't name. Anger, perhaps? But no. Expectation? Something brighter. More keen. He gave up, and instead tried to smile reassuringly at his friend.

"Oh, it's nothing to fret about," he said. "I'll be right as rain, whatever happens."

Thorin smiled at him then, so softly it hurt Bilbo's heart a little. Then his hand slid from the position flat against his spine, around to his shoulder, pulling him against Thorin's side comfortingly as they continued their leisurely walk. Bilbo's face was suddenly very warm, his heart beating quickly at their sudden proximity.

"You will," Thorin murmured, quite close to his ear. "I swear it."

Bilbo felt a surge of affection for the dwarf then, and shoved away his less pure thoughts in favour of that. Thorin had told him they were friends, and he would be happy with that. More than happy! The fact was that he seemed to care so very much about Bilbo's welfare these days, that he was obviously extremely concerned by the position he had been placed by Gandalf, and without even knowing the half of what was being asked of him. It touched Bilbo deeply.

He sighed and wrapped his own arm around Thorin's back companionably. Thorin was broad, and Bilbo couldn't quite get purchase for the half embrace to be comfortable, so he grasped the back of his surcoat with his fingers. He heard Thorin release a tiny sigh, and wondered if perhaps he needed the comfort as much as Bilbo did.

"It'll all be alright, you know," Bilbo told him quietly.

There was a long moment before Thorin answered him, and when he did, his voice sounded barely above a whisper. "Yes, I believe it will."

All too soon they reached the large square and the Town Hall, and Bilbo dropped his hand away from Thorin at last. Thorin was slower to release his own hold, but he did so, and Bilbo began to fuss with his clothes.

"How do I look?" he asked, and Thorin smiled at him.

He reached out a large hand and gently smoothed Bilbo's hair back across his forehead with the tips of his fingers. The hobbit knew he was blushing now, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to hide it.

"Perfect," said Thorin, withdrawing and offering Bilbo something like a nod. "Good luck today."

"Uh," Bilbo replied eloquently, then gathered himself as Thorin's smile widened. "Thank you. Um. You too!"

Thorin said nothing more, just giving him one last, quick look over, before he turned on his heel and left. Bilbo stared after him, completely flabbergasted, and wondering where this surge of care and sweetness was coming from.

Oh, he had always known Thorin was sweet - not to him, of course, but to the rest of the company. He showed a great deal of care for each of them, took an interest and made the effort to speak, laugh, and bond with the other dwarrow. He was downright careful with the youngest members, and it was really quite something to see his respect and defence towards Balin, Oin, and Bifur, in particular.

Bilbo and Thorin had gotten off to a rough start, of course, but things had changed considerably after the goblin caves. Thorin had clearly expected Bilbo to return to the Shire and leave the dwarrow to their fate, and had seemed quite ashamed to be proven wrong when Bilbo managed to find his way back to them. Then, of course, Bilbo had thrown himself between Thorin and Azog The Defiler, an orc lord who had sworn to end the line of Durin.

He had saved Thorin's life in a moment of pure desperation, and then they had escaped, thanks to Gandalf. Atop the Carrock Thorin had simultaneously reprimanded him for putting himself in danger, and apologised for how he had been treating Bilbo up until that point. It had been, incidentally, the moment Bilbo had first realised he was rather unfortunately attracted to the dwarf, something that had only grown more pressing as time wore on.

From then on, they had treated one another with mutual respect and gentle caution. An unlikely friendship had blossomed, slowly at first, then strengthening through the bars of the elvenking's dungeons. Their cells had been close, and they had spoken often without being able to see one another, talking of their childhoods, tastes in music and literature, and even singing together now and then to while away the pressing despair of their situation.

Since they had regained their freedom, Thorin had been different. Not obviously so, at first, but he seemed to hold more concern for Bilbo, and he certainly touched him more often. Touch was important to dwarrow, this much Bilbo knew from travelling with them for so long. It showed trust, kinship, and general closeness. To Bilbo, a hobbit who had lived alone for the past twenty years, it had been quite the adjustment as they had all slowly begun to show their affection for him too, with nudges, shoulder pats, the occasional hug, and even now two forehead bumps from Fili and Kili.

Thorin had always been more sparing of his physical affection than the others, of course. Bilbo had assumed it had something to do with being king, and if Thorin's words about his nephews by the lake only two days ago were anything to go by, he had been right to think so. It was therefore all the more surprising how often Bilbo was finding himself on the receiving end of so many easy touches, and it made his heart flutter in a way he had never experienced before.

Bilbo sighed heavily, and tried to gather himself. He had a difficult day ahead of him, and he certainly didn't have time to be standing here in the cold, mooning over Thorin Oakenshield. No matter how much he might be tempted. Dawn was beginning to creep over the lake and mountains to the East, the sky growing light and grey above him. Figuring out Thorin and his unpredictable behaviour could wait, but the Master of Lake Town could not.

Again straightening his clothes, Bilbo went up to the doors and knocked. A part of him half expected to be left out in the cold, certain as he was that Alfrid would try to find some way to drive him off, so he almost jumped out of his skin when the door opened almost immediately.

"Halfling," Alfrid drawled, looking Bilbo up and down like some kind of bug on his boot. "Not this door. Staff go round the back."

Bilbo opened his mouth to apologise and ask where the other door was to be found so he might go that way tomorrow, only to have the door slammed in his face. Closing his eyes and counting to ten, Bilbo turned and followed the building as best he could until he came to another door around the back. The way Lake Town was built, it was almost impossible to know where one building ended and another began, but he knocked anyway and hoped for the best.

The door was again thrown open to reveal Alfrid, looking just as smarmy as could be. "You're late, halfling."

"I do apologise," Bilbo sketched a short bow. "I wasn't advised which door to use ahead of time. It won't happen again."

Alfrid took him in speculatively, and Bilbo did his best to maintain his polite facade. He had expected some level of nastiness, and so far this wasn't nearly as bad as he had imagined. If there was some way for him to placate Alfrid enough that he would grow bored and let him be, then he could hold his temper for that.

"See that it doesn't," Alfrid answered, opening the door wider to allow Bilbo entry. Bilbo stepped inside and found he was in a sort of kitchen area, filthy as it was, and no staff to speak of. Alfrid didn't give him any time to get his bearings, however, and snapped his fingers as though summoning a dog. "Come!"

Bilbo again stamped down his annoyance at being treated so rudely, and followed as he was bid. He had to trot a little to keep up with the man, but he still managed to keep pace with him.

"Are you taking me to see Lord Othur?" he asked.

"That's the 'Master' to you, halfling," Alfrid spat, curling his lip at Bilbo in open disdain. "And no, he don't wake until midday. I'm to put you to work myself, and I've got just the job for you."

Before Bilbo could ask any further questions, Alfrid opened a door and shoved him through it. It was a study or library of some sort, though mostly it appeared to be a fire risk. Parchment and books were scattered across every available surface, and bookshelves crammed and messy with dust-thick tomes.

"The Master wants this room organised," Alfrid told him. "There's plenty of others, so be quick about it."

Bilbo looked around the room once more, and as bad as it was, he had to admit in the privacy of his own mind that he had half expected Alfrid to have him cleaning latrines. This, at least, he could manage.

"Thank you kindly," he turned to the greasy looking man. "I should like to speak with the Master at some point today, if possible. Will you let him know once he rises for the day?"

"You ain't got no reason to speak to him," Alfrid snapped, and Bilbo did his best to remain completely still. "You deal with me, halfling. You're my underling, so anything you have to say to the Master goes through me!"

Bilbo wanted to kick himself for making Alfrid think he might truly be after his own job, but it was too late now to fix the error. All he could do was be as non-threatening and polite as possible, no matter how rude Alfrid became. Luckily, being overly polite to people who didn't necessarily deserve it was a skill he had inherited from his father. It was a learned skill, rather than a natural one. Bilbo found that he was more characteristically inclined to be sarcastic, much as his dear mother had been, so it had been a hard lesson learned.

"That's even better then," Bilbo nodded. "I only wished to ask for my contract, but if you are my direct superior, then I'm sure you will be able to provide it to me."

"Contract?" Alfrid scoffed. "You don't need a contract."

Dwalin's scandalised look from the other night suddenly flashed through Bilbo's mind, and he wondered how the stoic dwarf warrior might have reacted to this particular situation. He tried not to smile, and hid it by bowing very shallowly once again.

"It's for Gandalf, you understand, not for me," Bilbo lied. "The Master advised one would be made ready for me to send on to him, as he could not delay his travel any longer. I'm sure you understand that as I'm still under his employ, he wants to make certain that his scribe is being treated fairly."

Alfrid seemed to flounder then, much to Bilbo's satisfaction. If Gandalf was going to just go off and leave him in this mess, then the hobbit was going to brandish him like a weapon if he had to. He already knew Alfrid was afraid of the wizard, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that the slippery advisor was going to do everything he could to keep Bilbo away from Lord Othur.

Even if Alfrid went to the master about this, and even if the Master chose to argue the point, Bilbo could say this was simply what he had been told. Gandalf was too far away to confirm or deny his words, and he was sure the wizard would agree with the dwarrow that a contract was needed. As it was, Bilbo didn't expect to meet with much resistance at all, especially if the slack-jawed expression on Alfrid's face was anything to go by.

"Fine!" he sniffed, face twisting unpleasantly. "You'll have it by the end of today. Just don't be skiving off in 'ere, I'll be back to check!"

With that he slammed the door, causing dust to rise in the room around Bilbo in a faint little cloud. Well. Tidying up a study wasn't completely out of his remit, after all. If he was mostly left to get on with things, this might not be so bad after all.

Taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Bilbo got to work.

Chap 8

The day had gone surprisingly smoothly. Bilbo had cleared all of the paperwork neatly to one side, then the books, then gone back to the little kitchen area to find a broom, a pail of water, and a cloth to wipe down the bookshelves and furniture. He knew if he was to make a halfway decent job of this he would need to ask for some sort of polish for the wood, but despite it getting on for midday at that point, there was still no sign of any other staff to ask for such a thing.

Puzzled by the strangeness of the goings on in this building, Bilbo went back to the study and began the filthy, laborious task of scrubbing away the thick layer of dust. He had to go back and refill his water pail several times, and rinse and change the cloth he was using, but by the end of the day, he was satisfied with the result.

The sun was just starting to set, orange light streaming in through the windows, when Bilbo returned to the kitchen to wash his hands and face. He could smell food, and could tell that someone had cooked at some point, but still saw no sign of anyone else. He heard, rather than saw, the familiar step of Alfrid coming up behind him, though obviously trying to be quiet about it, and so he spoke without turning.

"I could do with some beeswax for the wood and the books. I'm not sure how thorough you wanted me to be, but unless the binding on the books is treated, the leather it will continue to disintegrate and ruin."

The footsteps stopped, and Bilbo hid his satisfied smirk in a clean cloth under the pretence of drying his face. He wanted Alfrid to let him be as much as possible, to not see him as a threat of any kind, but also he wanted to make sure the man knew he wasn't going to be an easy target, either. If he thought he was going to get the drop on this hobbit, he had another thing coming. He had been dodging tickle attacks from Fili and Kili for months now, after all.

"Got yer contract, halfling," Alfrid drawled, and Bilbo turned around to find him in the doorway, eyeing Bilbo with open distrust. "Sign it, then be off with you."

Bilbo dried his hands, then stepped forward to take the proffered document. "I shall take it with me to be read, and bring it back tomorrow. Gandalf will want to see it before I sign anything."

It was a deliberate choice to once again use Gandalf as a shield, though not for his own benefit so much this time. The last thing Bilbo wanted was to bring the dwarrow to Alfrid's attention, so he had resolved not to mention them at all if he could help it.

"Thought he was gone?" Alfrid sounded a little desperate, and as Bilbo unfolded the contract and scanned the first few lines, he could see why.

His job description was 'Skivvy' and his wage was one copper a week.

"Magic, you know," Bilbo said easily, then folded the contract back up and offered it to the now very pale, sweaty looking man. "I don't mean to be pert, Mister Lickspittle, but you appear to have muddled up my contract with someone else's. Obviously I've been hired on as a scribe, and as I'm still under the care of the wise and powerful Gandalf the Grey, I couldn't accept anything less than four silver a month for my time."

Alfrid snatched up the contract, his jaundiced eyes wide, and spluttered. "Four silver? I don't even get that!"

That was somehow surprising, but in truth, Bilbo had deliberately pitched the wage high. He put his hand on his chin and nodded, as though considering the problem.

"Goodness," he replied, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose I could take a little less, as the Master has very kindly agreed to take me on as a favour returned to Gandalf. How much may I expect?"

"Five coppers a week," Alfrid snapped, and Bilbo tutted three times in quick succession.

"I'm afraid that won't do, Mister Lickspittle. I happen to know there's a job for a cook at The Laughing Pike for that exact same wage, and we wouldn't want a cook to be earning the same as your personal underling now, would we?"

Their room and board at The Pike was three coppers each a week, and they each had to pay one copper in taxes as they were working. So, in order to make it up they needed Bilbo to earn at least nine to cover their living expenses. They had their little nest egg for now, but it wouldn't last long if they weren't at least making the basic wage from week to week. Dwalin, to his knowledge, had no income as of yet, and Thorin wasn't making enough to even cover his own outlay. John so far had been the only employer to offer Nori a wage that meant he could afford his personal living cost and have a little extra left over.

"I will accept two silver a month," Bilbo told him firmly, as though bartering for the use of a plough pony in the Shire. "But I'll need it weekly to cover my lodging and expenses, so we can say ten coppers a week."

Alfrid looked furious, teeth bared and face splotchy as he gripped the contract in his fist. For a moment Bilbo thought he might argue, and part of him wanted the man to give him the boot so he could take up the cook's job at the Inn. A very small part.

"Fine!" Alfrid snapped. "Ten coppers a week, but you'll work hard for it, y'hear?"

"Of course," Bilbo bowed very slightly. "And Gandalf can expect to see that in writing tomorrow, I assume?"

"Yeah yeah, fine!" the man practically snarled, before whirling away and calling back over his shoulder. "Now get out my sight, halfling! And be on time tomorrow!"

Bilbo smiled to himself as he dropped his hands into his pockets. That had gone much better than he might have expected, and he was pleased to have rattled Alfrid so. If he could keep this up, stay out of the way and get that agreement on paper and signed formally, things might not be so bad after all.

Picking up his coat and bag from where he had hung them beside the back door, Bilbo put them both on and left. As he made his way through the back alley and into the square, he slid his gloves onto his already cold hands, and looked up to see Thorin tucked away to one side. He looked deep in thought, his brows furrowed and arms crossed as he leaned against a building on the far side, and didn't notice Bilbo immediately.

"Thorin!" Bilbo called happily as he trotted over. "Were you waiting for me?"

Thorin looked up, eyes fierce, just as Bilbo stopped in front of him.

"What's happened?" he snapped. "You're filthy!"

Bilbo's heart sank, and he looked down at himself. He hadn't yet fastened his coat, and Thorin was right, he was filthy. The front of his tunic and the knees of his trousers were all stained with grime and dust, and he realised he must look an absolute state. He felt his cheeks heat up in mortification and closed his coat quickly.

"Oh," he laughed nervously as he did up the buttons. "Sorry. Busy day. I was cleaning up one of the offices, and it's not been used for a while..."

"Why were you cleaning? I thought you were a scribe?" Thorin snarled, and Bilbo couldn't help but flinch. It was such a turnaround from how he had spoken that morning, how sweet he had been, that it set Bilbo off kilter. He wasn't sure why Thorin was so angry, whether it was actually at him or just the world in general, but it felt like a bucket of cold water to the face.

He heard Thorin heave a great sigh, then a warm hand reached up to grasp his chin and gently guide Bilbo's head back up again. The dwarf looked contrite, and a little sad.

"I apologise," he said, though not meeting Bilbo's eyes himself. "I didn't mean... I should not have..."

As Thorin's fingers dropped away from his chin, Bilbo caught sight of several nasty looking wounds across his hand and forearm. He gasped in horror and immediately grabbed Thorin's hand back up again. The dwarf didn't resist.

"What happened?" Bilbo asked, appalled, as he cradled Thorin's much larger hand in both of his own, and inspected the small wounds.

When there was no answer, Bilbo looked up to find Thorin watching him very closely. Then he cleared his throat, and looked away from the hobbit quickly.

"A side effect of working a forge, Master Baggins," he said quietly. "It happens to the best of smiths, and I am out of practice."

"It looks so painful," Bilbo frowned, despite knowing it made some level of sense. "Do you not have gloves? The smith in Hobbiton always wore gloves."

"Because they are a hobbit, no doubt," Thorin replied, finally pulling his hand out of Bilbo's hold. "I am a dwarf. I do not need gloves."

Bilbo looked suspiciously at said dwarf, and got the distinct impression he was being deliberately barbed. He was starting to recognise Thorin's pattern for pushing people away when he was hurt or ashamed, and it was fast becoming predictable. The issue was that he didn't have enough knowledge of smithing to understand what the problem was here.

"You wear armour, don't you? I don't see how this is any different." Bilbo challenged, then turned to leave the square. When Thorin's hand returned to its now customary position between his shoulder-blades and steered him to the side of the boardwalk furthest from the lake, Bilbo tried not to feel too happy about it. "I need to stop by the market, if anything is still open."

"What do you need?" Thorin asked, as they continued to walk.

"Beeswax, or something similar," Bilbo replied, almost certain Alfrid wouldn't provide him with any come the morrow, despite his asking. "And some antiseptic of some sort for you."

"I have no need of it," Thorin said brusquely. "Soap and water will serve. What is the beeswax for?"

Dwarves, Bilbo thought to himself, trying not to roll his eyes.

"I want to try and restore some of the older books," he said, tamping down his irritation. "And before you try to argue, I haven't been asked to do it, I simply want to. I don't like to see the way all those books have been neglected, and I want to try and save them, if I can."

It was partly true, he tried to comfort himself. He had been lying a lot lately, and it was unsettling how easily it came to him. The fact was, Alfrid had charged him with tidying up that study, and it went against all of Bilbo's hobbitish heart to do half a job. He did truly want to restore the books, and the fact that the beeswax would also be used as furniture polish was surely neither here nor there.

"I would not deny you your pleasures," Thorin said quietly. "If it makes you happy, then it is money well spent."

Bilbo blew out a heavy sigh at this, certain he would never be able to keep up with Thorin and his changeable treatment of him, but couldn't help smiling a little. "Good. Then you'll also let me get some antiseptic and treat your burns, won't you?"

"You wish to...?" Thorin began, sounding surprised, then stopped himself. "Bilbo, I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that I will be fine. It's an expense we can ill afford."

Bilbo tried to ignore the little flutter in the pit of his stomach at Thorin using his name again, and mentally berated himself for missing something so obvious. Of course it was about finances! That was probably why the great, daft dwarf was trying to pretend he didn't need gloves to work the forge, too! Bilbo wasn't sure which of them he was more annoyed with, Thorin or himself, and decided relatively quickly that it wouldn't help matters either way to know. It was clearly a very sensitive topic, and he needed to handle it with care.

"It's not like it wouldn't be a useful thing to have on hand for all of us," Bilbo tried, reasonably. "Besides, things are looking up! I managed to negotiate my wage to ten coppers a week, so we're covered for the basics now."

Thorin stopped walking, and Bilbo turned to find the dwarf staring at him in open surprise. "Negotiated? How?"

"Ah," Bilbo ducked his head, unsure Thorin would approve of his tactics, but not wanting to lie again. "I may have subtly implied that Gandalf would be quite cross if he felt I was being taken advantage of. He did rather put the wind up them the other day..."

A short burst of laughter from Thorin stopped him talking, and the dwarf looked just as surprised by the sound as Bilbo was. Then he smiled in a way that looked really quite fond, before stepping forwards into Bilbo's space. As he placed a hand on the back of Bilbo's neck, his grasp very gentle, the hobbit had to remind himself that this was simply a gesture of friendship. He had seen Dwalin do the same with Nori a few times, so he knew it had no romantic connotations whatsoever, no matter how much his heart sped up at what he perceived as something quite intimate.

"Clever hobbit," Thorin murmured, so close that for a moment Bilbo thought he might rest their foreheads together. When he didn't, and instead pulled back once again with a grin on his face, Bilbo tried not to feel disappointed. "Well done. Do you have it in writing?"

"Almost," Bilbo stretched the truth again, though only a very little. "It'll be finished up tomorrow, but I'll be sure to bring it back to be looked over before I sign anything."

Thorin, surprisingly, did not argue that, and nodded thoughtfully. "Is that why you didn't tell me until now? You wanted the contract first? Very dwarven of you, Master Baggins. Dwalin would approve."

Not sure at all how he should feel about that, and completely baffled by the large thumb rubbing back and forth at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, Bilbo huffed and shooed Thorin's hand away. He very quickly turned on his heel and began to march towards the market.

"I didn't tell you because you were in a foul mood and I rather lost track of everything," Bilbo huffed, calling over his shoulder. "Come on, or we won't make it in time."

Thorin said nothing to that, but fell into step just slightly behind Bilbo as they went. His hand didn't go back to its usual position at his back, and Bilbo felt a little bereft without it, though he tried not to think too hard about that. He had managed perfectly well without being fussed over the rest of the journey, and even at the market with Nori the day before. Still, he found he missed the connection, no matter how irritated he became with himself for admitting it, even in the privacy of his own mind.

They reached the market, and Bilbo just managed to catch the stallholders he needed, picking up two tins of soft, buttery beeswax polish, a bottle of witch hazel, and a few rolls of bandages. Thorin stood slightly back the whole time, though wordlessly took the packages from Bilbo's hands and carried them for him without so much as a by your leave. It was... oddly gallant.

They walked back to the Inn and Bilbo wished he could turn and see Thorin's face, just to try and read this sudden, heavy silence. Was he truly so annoyed that Bilbo wished to treat his injuries? Or was he embarrassed? It could have been either, and Bilbo knew, deep down in his Baggins-born common sense, that worrying over it would make very little difference.

When they reached The Pike it was already dark out, and Bilbo would have walked right past Dwalin were it not for Thorin stopping to greet their friend.

"Glad you made it back," Dwalin said, a little flatly. "Was wonderin' if I should come find you."

There was very little light to speak of, just a single little lantern beside the door where the sign for the Inn was hanging, and some candlelight from inside glowing out of the few, small windows. Bilbo couldn't see Dwalin's expression, but could tell by the way he was hunched stiffly over the railing and looking out across the water that all was not well.

"My fault," Bilbo admitted. "I needed to stop at the market."

"Naught for you to apologise for, Bilbo," Dwalin said in that same, flat voice. "If he'd not been with you I'd have left to search already."

It was meant to be a joke, Bilbo was sure, but the dwarf sounded so terribly miserable, he didn't have the heart to laugh. He was about to ask what was troubling him so, but Thorin stepped forward and placed a hand on Dwalin's shoulder.

"Long day, my friend?"

"Aye," came the quiet response.

Thorin looked at Bilbo, and though the light was dim, he could see enough that he caught his nod towards the door to the Inn. He might not be able to see in the dark as well as a dwarf, but he'd been travelling with Thorin long enough to know when he was being dismissed. Clearing his throat quietly, he took the packages from under Thorin's arm, then held out his hand.

"Key, please," he asked, a little more brusquely than he meant. "I'll wait upstairs, and I'll get you seen to before dinner."

There was a faint snort from Dwalin that was so quiet Bilbo thought it might have been an odd little cough, but he ignored it as Thorin fished the key out of his pocket and handed it over. His face looked a little flushed somehow, but Bilbo couldn't tell if that was just the lighting.

"I'll see you shortly," he replied quietly, and Bilbo could tell he was avoiding his eye.

Part of him wanted to reiterate that he was going to clean up Thorin's burns whether he liked it or not, but he knew that whatever Dwalin was going through right now did not need his interference. He had to trust that Thorin would do as he said, and so far the dwarf had never given him reason to doubt his word. Bilbo nodded, then stopped for a moment, gently patted Dwalin's arm in what he hoped was a comforting manner, before turning and walking away.

As he got to the door, he heard Dwalin sigh.

"I can't face him, Thorin. I've been around this Mahal-forsaken place all day and they'll have none of me. How am I to prove-?"

The door closed behind Bilbo before the sentence ended, and the noise of the tap room drowned out Dwalin's words. There was obviously some point of reference for what the dwarf was saying, but Bilbo didn't know what it was and he didn't think it right to speculate. He couldn't help but mentally file the words away, however, and note that it seemed likely that he hadn't had much luck finding work today.

As Bilbo made his way through the tap room, he saw Nori at the bar serving drinks, and wriggled his way past the crowds of much larger men to get to him. When the dwarf saw him he raised a hand in greeting.

"Ho there, Bilbo! Can I get you a drink?"

"Thank you, but not right now," Bilbo replied. "I could do with a pitcher of clean water though, please?"

"Sure, come through," Nori unlocked the gate and Bilbo ducked in behind the bar. "Thorin not with you?"

"He's outside with Dwalin," Bilbo picked up a jug and went to fill it from the tap in the far corner, beside the kitchen. "I think they've both had a bit of a bad day."

Nori looked over at the front door, leading out of the Inn. "I wondered where he'd got to. Haven't seen him since this morning. Did he say what was wrong?"

"Not to me, no," Bilbo admitted, then decided it would be okay to confide in Nori. "I don't think he's managed to find work, and I think his pride is hurting. Thorin has stayed out there to talk to him."

Nori sighed, then said something in Khuzdul, before covering his mouth and glancing at Bilbo. "Sorry, force of habit. I'm due a break soon, I'll head out and see if I can't pull the daft bugger out of himself. Thanks for telling me, Bilbo."

Bilbo simply nodded, his pitcher now full, and headed back out of the bar. It was difficult to manoeuvre the busy tap room laden down as he was, but he finally made it to the stairs and went on up. When he reached their room, he had to put everything down so he could unlock the door, moved the key from the outer lock to the inner one, then picked everything all back up again and scurried inside, kicking the door shut behind himself.

The fire was lit, throwing enough light into the otherwise darkened room for Bilbo to find his way to his own bed and put everything down again, then light the candle on the dresser. Now able to see a little better, he took the pitcher of clean water back to the fireplace to stand on the hearth and warm a little, before returning to his bed and unpacking everything else.

He took the beeswax polish and placed it in his little satchel to take back to the Town Hall the next day, then laid out the bottle of witch hazel and the rolls of bandages to one side. Then he dug around the dresser until he found a clean cloth, which he put with everything else and moved to the chairs beside the fireplace.

After removing his coat and gloves, he grimaced at the state of his tunic and trousers. He had been far dirtier than this through most of their quest, but he was a little sorry to see his new clothes soiled so. He would have to ask about a laundry tub and such so he could get them cleaned up as soon as he was able. For now though, he decided to strip off the tunic, at the very least. He didn't want to risk getting any further muck in Thorin's wounds and chance an infection.

He was just rolling up his sleeves when there was a knock at the door, and he cursed quietly, realising that he hadn't locked it behind himself.

"Come in," he sighed, resigned to the stern reprimand he was likely about to receive.

There was a short pause, then the door opened and Thorin stepped in. He didn't look at Bilbo as he turned and closed it behind himself, turning the key still in the lock with a loud, resounding click.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said quickly, hoping to get out in front of the inevitable scolding. "My hands were full and then I forgot to go back and lock up behind myself. I'm not used to locking doors, I never locked Bag End unless I was going away for an extended period of time. Never any need in the Shire, I suppose."

When he looked up from the task of turning up his shirt sleeves, he was surprised to see Thorin watching him, not openly annoyed, but rather a little uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

"I understand," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "But there is a need here. You did not even check it was me before you allowed entry."

Bilbo flushed as he realised what Thorin said was true, he had just assumed it was the dwarf knocking when it might have been anyone. He didn't like to think the worst of people, but they were at an Inn where just about anyone might be passing through, and as he'd been reminded more than once since leaving Bag End, he was no longer in the safety of the Shire.

"You're right," Bilbo said, shamefaced. "That was careless of me, I'm sorry."

"Please, don't apologise," Thorin looked almost imploringly at him, something warring in his expression as he seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "I'm not... I'm just concerned for you. For your safety."

"I know," Bilbo tried to smile, again completely off-balance by Thorin's change in demeanour. "I'll be more careful, I promise."

"Thank you," Thorin nodded, still looking uncomfortable.

Bilbo cleared his throat and stepped forward, gesturing to the chairs beside the fireplace where the light would be best. "How's Dwalin?"

"A little better now, I believe," Thorin offered, taking up a seat a little awkwardly, due to it being built for a man rather than a dwarf. "Thank you for sending Nori out."

"Oh, I didn't," Bilbo admitted, going to the second chair and dragging it a bit closer to Thorin, then bending down to pick up the bandages and witch hazel. "I think he was just worried, that's all. I'm glad Dwalin is feeling better, though. Is there anything I can do to help?"

For a moment Bilbo looked between the supplies in his arms and how tall the chair was for a hobbit, trying to figure out how best to tackle it. He dithered for a moment, then started when Thorin reached forward to take the bottle and bandages from his grasp.

"You're doing plenty enough as it is," he said, offering a hand to steady Bilbo as he clambered up into the too large chair.

Seating himself at last, Bilbo looked down at how his feet were dangling like a child and had to suppress a huff of irritation. He then glanced across at where Thorin was sitting opposite him and realised he was still too far away to reach properly. Pressing his lips together in quiet annoyance at how dratted big everything was built here, he was making ready to get back down to the floor again when Thorin again reached forward, this time grasping the chair Bilbo was on and pulling it towards himself.

The sudden movement set Bilbo off-balance, and he pitched forward, his hands automatically flying out and clutching Thorin's knees to steady himself. He looked up in surprise and found himself practically nose to nose with the dwarf, who looked just as shocked at their sudden proximity as Bilbo felt. They stared at one another, and while it was surely only a few seconds, it felt like much longer, somehow.

There was a fraction of a breath where Thorin's gaze dropped slightly, and he tilted his chin just a very little to one side, as though he were about to... Then it was over, and Thorin pulled back, looking down at the items in his hands and holding them out for Bilbo.

Bilbo suddenly realised he was still grasping Thorin's knees in a highly inappropriate manner, and released him immediately. He didn't look at the dwarf as he got himself organised, setting the bandages and bottle on the far too large seat beside himself. Pulling the clean, soft cloth he had found from his pocket, Bilbo studiously watched his own hands as he twisted and pulled the cork from the glass bottle. The pungent smell of the witch hazel drowned out the persistent scent of smoke, dwarvish musk, and vetiver that were ever present when Thorin was close by, and he tried not to think too hard about how sorry he was for it.

"You do not have to do this for me, Master Baggins," Thorin said suddenly, as Bilbo pressed the cloth to the mouth of the bottle and upturned it until he could feel the witch hazel seeping through. "I can manage by myself."

"You wouldn't grouse at Oin like this," Bilbo tried to sound lighthearted. "Now, give me your hand, please."

In truth, Bilbo wanted to do this. He wanted to so badly he could practically taste it. So many of their friends had told him to look after Thorin, and as much as he wished he could live up to whatever expectation they seemed to have, there was very little he could offer their leader. He knew that Thorin was more than capable of taking care of himself, that he had likely been treating burns for decades before Bilbo had even been a twinkle in his parent's eyes. Still, he could do this for him, little as it was, and he desperately wanted to.

"I think sometimes, Master Baggins, that you and I speak at cross-purposes," Thorin sighed, offering his hand to Bilbo. "The fault is mine, but I wish to remedy it."

"What do you mean?" Bilbo took Thorin's hand carefully, cradling it in his own much smaller one as he looked at the strange, sore dapple of blisters. They weren't dreadful, not by any stretch of the imagination - he had seen Thorin hurt far worse than this and walk it off like it was nothing. Still, it tugged at him, and very gently he began to dab the damp cloth over the nasty little welts to clean them.

"My behaviour towards you at the beginning of our journey has given you cause to fear my temper," Thorin said, not so much as flinching at the contact, despite that it surely must sting. "I find myself greatly sorry to see it."

Bilbo frowned, but didn't look up from his careful work in case he accidentally caused pain. "I don't fear your temper, Thorin. Or you, for that matter."

"Of course you do," Thorin replied. "You worry constantly that I will be cross over some perceived slight, and you grow tense and withdrawn if I become too gruff with you. I do not blame you for it, I was... cruel to you, in the beginning, but I had hoped I had gone some way to making amends by now."

"You have," Bilbo did look at Thorin then, and hated to see the uncertainty in his face. He gently squeezed the dwarf's wrist, resting in his hand as he worked. "Of course you have. You told me by the river that we were friends, and I have no reason not to take you at your word."

"And yet you do not hold yourself back from reprimanding Dwalin when he becomes ill-tempered," Thorin pointed out. "You took no issue with arguing your case the night before last, despite how he gnashed and growled."

"That's different," Bilbo deflected, stopping to dampen the cloth with more witch hazel.

"How so?"

"Because I was defending Nori, not myself," Bilbo huffed, taking up Thorin's hand again and continuing to tend to his injuries. He glanced up quickly at the dwarf, who's own gaze seemed to be fixated on what Bilbo was doing, though looking still quite glum. "Is everything alright?"

"You flinched," Thorin said softly. "This evening, when I was... in a foul temper, as you so rightly called it. You flinched as though you thought I might..."

Bilbo looked up properly at Thorin now, mouth parting and eyes wide as he took in the slumped shoulders and bowed head of the usually proud and self-assured dwarf king before him. He had flinched, he knew he had, but he was a hobbit, and hobbits flinched sometimes. It was built in. He had certainly flinched many times before Thorin, before all of the company in fact. Never had it affected any of them, save for a few surprised glances and a little more care the next time around.

"I would never hurt you, Bilbo," Thorin spoke earnestly, taking Bilbo's hand in both of his and looking down at it as though it were something truly fascinating. "Never. Not for all the world."

"I know that!" Bilbo replied quickly. "You don't have to... Thorin, I know that, of course I do. You just startled me, that's all. I'll admit I find you a little changeable sometimes, like I'm one bad joke or foolish comment away from upsetting you, but it only makes me nervous because your good opinion means a great deal to me."

Too much, he silently chastised himself as Thorin's eyes went wide in surprise. Friends didn't say things like that to one another. Or did they? Bilbo didn't know anymore. Ignoring his feelings for Thorin was growing more and more difficult, and with that came doubt and over-thinking his every word and action. Thorin smiled very slightly, and squeezed his hand again. Bilbo almost sagged in relief as he realised he had got away with it, but he managed to retain his composure.

"As does yours to me," Thorin admitted, his expression suddenly lighter somehow. "I wish to keep your good opinion, always, for all my faults. I grow frustrated often, and I'm quick to temper in that state. I always have been. I cannot promise you I will never speak crossly..."

Bilbo waved this aside easily. "Anymore than I can promise I won't ever flinch again."

"But I would not have you pull away as you have in the past, nor bow your head, smother your words and hide your thoughts," Thorin rejoined quickly, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Bilbo's knuckles. "I would have you argue back. I would have you stand your ground and speak your mind, as you did at the river, safe in the knowledge that my regard for you is true and strong, and that I consider you my equal."

If the words had come from almost anyone else, Bilbo might have thought he was simply being polite. That it was perhaps an empty declaration, with no real weight behind it. But Thorin wouldn't say something so meaningful without giving it real consideration. Suddenly his chest hurt, and there was a lump in his throat, and he couldn't quite bring himself to look at the dwarf any longer. Not for shame or embarrassment, but for fear of what he might see in Bilbo's face otherwise.

Thankfully Thorin didn't press him, and after a moment of slightly too long silence while Bilbo tried to gather himself, they went back to the task at hand. Soon Bilbo felt much more in control and much less like he might cry, which was a relief. He hadn't realised quite how much Thorin's approval meant to him. Oh, he had always wanted it, that much was certain, but to have such a sentiment expressed so straightforwardly was enough to make his heart swell. Perhaps he needn't worry quite so much about showing at least some of his admiration for the dwarf king, after all.

"You weren't cruel to me," Bilbo said suddenly, and he saw Thorin start from the corner of his vision. "Earlier, you said you were cruel to me. In the beginning. I wanted to say that I never thought you cruel. You were just... dismissive. And a bit rude. And I likely deserved it."

"You did not deserve any such treatment," Thorin replied, quite firmly. "I was unkind to you, and for no good reason."

"You weren't so bad," Bilbo shrugged.

"I called you a grocer."

"Perfectly respectable profession in the Shire, you realise," Bilbo sniffed in mock-haughtiness. "Being called a burglar was far worse."

Thorin laughed at that, and Bilbo joined him.

Chap 9

Bilbo awoke slowly, warm and comfortable, and well rested. He had grown so accustomed to being woken by Thorin's voice in his ear and a gentle hand on his shoulder, it was strange for a moment to waken to silence and sunlight.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Bilbo raised his head in confusion until he remembered it was Sunday. He did not work the weekends. None of them did, save for Thorin, who only worked a partial day. It had worried Bilbo to find the dwarf didn't have a single full day off, but Thorin had only smiled and told him he hadn't expected one.

It was true that the idea of a day off after everything they had been through was somewhat of a novelty, but this was now their second weekend in Lake Town and Bilbo found he had rather slipped back into expecting some leisure time with ease. That said, even relaxing in the Shire had meant some kind of busy work, and yesterday Bilbo had ended up in the kitchen downstairs, helping with the cooking. It had been lovely to get stuck in, and he had even set Dwalin to work chopping vegetables and washing up.

Nori, for his part, worked afternoons and evenings mostly, but John had given him Sundays and Mondays to rest, as they were when The Pike was quietest. Dwalin had yet to find work, something they all knew was weighing on the burly warrior with every day that passed.

Yawning quietly and rubbing his eyes, Bilbo looked about the room. He saw Nori and Dwalin were both still fast asleep, but that Thorin was currently sitting on his bed with his back to Bilbo and brushing his hair. The hobbit watched almost lazily as the comb slid through thick, dark locks, making them shine in the dim light of early morning.

Thorin was mostly dressed, as he didn't currently bother with his mail tunic while in Lake Town, and he had yet to don his fur-lined surcoat. That meant his top half was only in his undershirt and cotton tunic, and Bilbo couldn't help but admire the way his large body moved and strained beneath the fabric, both arms raised to his head as they were. There was something about watching Thorin's shoulders move in that fashion that made the hobbit want to dig his nails right into them, and he quietly sighed at the thought.

Thorin seemed to pause for half a breath, then moved his hair across to one side and over his broad shoulder, giving Bilbo a much better view. He drank it in, mesmerised, as he idly wondered what it would feel like to be under that strong, warm frame...

A small pulse of warmth in his lower belly caused Bilbo to realise just what he was doing, and mortified to be staring so and indulging such thoughts while Thorin was right there, he shook himself fully awake and quickly rolled over.

Foolish, wanton creature, he chastised himself silently, resisting the urge to slap his own cheeks to try and banish the blush that was warming them. He had been lucky neither of the others were awake, nor that Thorin had turned and seen him ogling him like... well, not like a friend would.

As he lay there, listening as Thorin continued his morning grooming and trying to calm his silly, pointless yearning, he reminded himself that he had to keep a tighter lid on his feelings. Things between Thorin and himself had been so much better the past few weeks, Bilbo having taken the dwarf's words to heart and trying not to take his changeable mood personally. They walked together to work each day, they had breakfast together, chatted about everything and nothing, and parted ways in good humour.

Then, without fail, Thorin met him in the evenings to walk back to the Inn again, though he was almost always grouchy and brooding. The change in demeanour was incredibly stark, but Bilbo did his best to react normally to this. He would continue to make small talk, tell amusing stories from his own day, and eventually found it coaxed Thorin back into a reasonable humour once again. It was nice to think he held some sort of positive effect, and that he could help the dwarf through these darker moments until he felt at least a little better after the trials of the day. He wasn't about to risk that, not for anything.

Looking sightlessly at the small window in the room, Bilbo could see there was something odd about the light coming through the thin material that served as curtains. Curious, he watched the little gap at the bottom closely until he realised what he was looking at, and with a sharp intake of breath, he threw the covers off himself and stumbled to the window. Throwing the curtains open, he took in the flurry of white falling from the sky with wide eyes and a wider smile.

He had never seen such snowflakes! They were huge, some as big as his palm, he was sure, and unable to resist, he undid the catch on the window and opened it with a quiet squeak of old hinges. Cold air immediately covered his still sleep-warm skin, even through the worn fabric of the shirt he was wearing, but he didn't care. He continued to grin as he leaned out of the open window and held out his hand to catch a few of the fluffy, magical looking flakes. A few settled on his fingertips, and he giggled.

"What are you doing?"

Thorin's amused voice from beside him caused Bilbo to start in surprise. He whipped around to find the dwarf watching him, blue eyes dancing, and Bilbo couldn't help but continue to smile like a faunt.

"Snow!" he laughed. "It's snowing!"

"It would appear so, yes," Thorin chuckled, looking deeply entertained by Bilbo's delight. "Does it not snow in the Shire?"

"Not like this," Bilbo breathed, awestruck by the sight of it, the way it floated through the air, and stuck immediately to any and every surface it touched. Snow in the Shire was small and powdery, like a dusting of icing sugar that coated grass, hedges, and roofs. It settled, but not for long periods of time, and nowhere near as thickly as the layer of white settling over the homes and boardwalks of Lake Town this morning.

Leaning back out of the window, Bilbo could see the forest on the distant shore was also white with snowfall, though even with his keen vision he couldn't see the mountains in the distance due to the weather. The sky was heavy and grey, the clouds seemingly lower to the ground, and the urge to stick out his tongue and try to catch a snowflake overtook him.

He leaned a little further out, trying to dodge the eaves above so he could achieve his goal, when a thick arm snaked around his middle and pulled him back. Turning his head in surprise, he found himself with his back pressed against the wall of Thorin's chest and held firm. The dwarf was not looking at him, however, his gaze turned aside, expression pained and cheeks ruddy, and it took far too long for Bilbo to realise Thorin's other hand was on the hem of his shirt, holding it firmly down at the back.

With bone-melting mortification, Bilbo remembered he was wearing his old, short shirt to sleep in, and he had likely come very close to exposing himself by bending out of the window like that. Immediately his hands came up to cover his very red, hot face.

"I'm so sorry!" he squeaked. "I wasn't thinking!"

Thorin let go of Bilbo, though seemingly very slowly. The hobbit was sure he was going to burst into flames from humiliation, and couldn't get himself to remove his own hands from his face. His brain had shut down completely as he played the scene over and over in his head and became so embarrassed that he was sure he'd die.

He didn't move a muscle as he heard Thorin move past him to close and latch the window, and part of him hoped the dwarf would simply leave without a word, giving Bilbo at least the next few hours to calm himself. There was a long moment of silence when he thought Thorin would do just that, until he felt a warm, heavy hand pat him a little awkwardly on the shoulder. Bilbo peeked out from behind his hands and saw Thorin looking still distinctly embarrassed, but smiling at him.

"Think nothing of it, Master Baggins."

There were suddenly two groans from the other occupants of the room, and both Thorin and Bilbo whipped around to where Dwalin and Nori were both still in their respective beds, but very clearly awake. Nori picked up his pillow and buried his head under it, and Dwalin shifted restlessly under his own blankets as he muttered.

"Unbelievable..."

Bilbo blushed harder, worried everyone had seen his foolishness, and ducked his head. "Sorry, did we wake you?"

"Ignore them," Thorin said, turning and walking back to his bed to pick up his coat. "I'll be back this afternoon, try not to fall out of any windows in the meantime."

Thorin flashed him a quick grin, and Bilbo smiled back a little uncertainly. He saw the way Thorin's eyes suddenly swept over him, and feeling self-conscious about his current state of undress, he gripped the front hem of his shirt. Standing upright, it covered him well enough, falling to about his mid-thigh, but after this morning he wasn't going to take any chances. Thorin only chuckled quietly and shook his head, before unlocking the door and leaving without further incident.

Bilbo stood there for a moment, feeling very disconcerted by the whole morning so far. The day was already a complete disaster, and he mentally toyed with the idea of just getting back into bed and pretending none of it had happened. Sleep for a few hours and re-set, so to speak.

"Put some damn clothes on, Burglar," Dwalin grumped, and threw a pillow at him, which Bilbo caught with a surprised whoosh of breath. "Thorin might not mind, but I don't want to see your arse, thanks."

"Oh, you awful brute!" Bilbo gasped, and threw the pillow back as hard as he could. "As if I haven't had to suffer through seeing the backside and tackle of every dwarf in this company, multiple times!"

"Suffered, huh?" Dwalin smirked. "Some less than others, I expect."

"Dwalin! Leave him be, or he'll stand there arguing all day!" Nori moaned, still hiding under his own pillow. "Bilbo, with all the love and true friendship I hold for you in my heart, please, please get dressed and go away!"

"Charming!" Bilbo sniffed, walking towards the fireplace to fetch clean water and wash. He wasn't actually annoyed, in truth. If anything he was glad for the excuse to leave this very uncomfortable conversation behind, and he again wondered just how much Dwalin saw sometimes.

"Tackle..." snorted said dwarf, and Bilbo turned to chastise him only to see Nori giving him a very hard look from under his pillow.

Snapping his mouth shut again, Bilbo went about his morning ablutions without any further comment. He was more than happy to argue with Dwalin, it gave the big lump something to focus on other than his growing frustrations at being without work to occupy himself, but Nori had been up late last night, and Bilbo felt bad for waking him.

When he was dressed, he leaned down under his bed where he was keeping a little half-finished sewing project to keep him occupied and tucked it into his bag for later. Grabbing his things, Bilbo headed to the door, and before he could look around for the second key, Dwalin got out of bed and ushered him towards the door.

"I need the key!" Bilbo protested, trying to scoot past the large dwarf and failing.

"I've got it," Dwalin said, and held it up to prove so. He unlocked the door and held it open for Bilbo with a grandiose flourish, and a wry smirk. "Go on then, isn't it time for fifth breakfast or something?"

"Aren't you coming down?" Bilbo asked curiously, and Dwalin scoffed.

"Ha! Not for a while yet, lad!"

With that, Dwalin practically slammed the door in his face, and locked it quite firmly from the inside. Bilbo got the distinct impression that he was missing some sort of joke, and likely at his own expense. As he turned to leave and head downstairs, he heard Dwalin and Nori laughing through the door, first quietly, then louder until Bilbo was absolutely certain they had seen him disgrace himself at the window.

Well, he thought, mustering as much dignity as he could manage in the dingy little hallway and trying not to think too hard about the events of the morning. At least they had waited for him to leave before falling about laughing.

Bilbo went to the tap room, had a chat with John, then went outside for a smoke to try and settle his nerves. The snow was still fluttering down from the sky, and becoming thicker by the moment. He felt cold now, and wished belatedly that he had picked up his coat from the bedroom before he'd left this morning, but he daren't go back up now. Nori might murder him.

Taking a long pull on his pipe, he looked out on the snowy scene laid out before him. Lake Town was quiet on a Sunday, but more so today, it seemed. If a snow like this had fallen in the Shire, there would have been shouts and laughter from adults, tweens, and faunts alike as everyone played and enjoyed themselves. The first snow of the season was one of the fixed 'down tools' days amongst hobbits, and Bilbo felt a little bereft to not have someone to at least toss a snowball at this morning. It seemed things were different here in every conceivable way.

Trying not to feel too sad, knowing it was probably just fleeting nostalgia, Bilbo finished his pipe at last and knocked the ash out of the bowl. His hands were red and freezing, and he would give it a proper clean later, but in an attempt to cheer himself he admitted that the cheap pipeweed the men used wasn't all that bad. It was certainly no Old Toby, nor even Longbottom Leaf, but it was better than that awful, noxious stuff the dwarrow used, at any rate!

Bilbo went back inside and glanced at the armchairs before the fireplace. He might have settled himself there immediately as the taproom was completely empty, but he saw John had laid out breakfast for him at one of the tables, and so sat down first to eat it. Again he felt a pang of loneliness, and wondered at it. He had lived alone in Bag End for years, after all. He had eaten hundreds upon hundreds of meals by himself, and without so much as a flicker of forlornness. He supposed after so many months now surrounded by a crowd of noisy dwarrow, it was odd to have the peace and quiet. For a moment he mentally poked at how he was going to adjust when this was all done and he finally went back to Hobbiton, but very quickly stopped himself from thinking about it. For some reason, it only made him sadder.

Finishing his toast, tea, and porridge (he wasn't sure if he would ever get used to everything here being made with goat's milk. It always tasted decidedly... goaty) he stacked up the crockery and took it over to the bar so John wouldn't have to go quite so far to tidy up. Hopping up on one of the stools, Bilbo reached behind the bar and picked up a damp cloth from where they were kept in case of spillages, then went back and wiped down his table.

Pleased with himself, glad to be in some sort of position where something as simple as wiping down a table after a meal was possible, Bilbo picked his satchel back up and headed towards the armchairs. Like all the other furniture in Lake Town, they were slightly too large for him to get himself situated without a little awkwardness, but the call to sit before a fireplace in comfort was too great for him to resist. Plus it wasn't as though there was anyone else about to see him attempt to scramble up into the chair, so what difference did it make?

He placed his satchel on the arm of the beaten old seat, then took a few steps back, meaning to take it at a very small, running-jump. No sooner had he got himself into position, however, did he hear the back door open, a light shuffling step, then close again behind whoever had entered. He expected John, but was surprised to see a young girl instead, shaking snow from her fair head and juggling a large, heavy basket full of laundry in her arms.

Bilbo went over to the young woman immediately. "Oh please, allow me!"

As he got closer, he realised she was actually quite young. He had first thought her just past adulthood, but as she blinked in surprise at him, he realised she must only be a teenager, as the men referred to them.

"You're very kind, sir," she smiled curiously down at him. "But this is very heavy."

Bilbo waved her protests aside and took the basket. It was heavy, in actual fact, but even as he struggled a little under the weight, he stoutly asked. "Where to, miss?"

The girl laughed behind her hand, but he wasn't offended. She reached and took one handle of the large basket, leaving the other for him. "Perhaps we can share the burden, sir?"

"An excellent plan. Pride comes before the fall, as my father used to say, and I think it quite likely I would have fallen flat on my face if the distance was too far, in truth," he grinned, then held out his free hand to shake. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Baggins," she took his hand and shook it firmly, as children do. "I'm Sigrid."

It was terribly odd to Bilbo still that no one here seemed to have surnames. At least the dwarrow had a system of using their sires to identify their lineage, and of course Thorin had his moniker of Oakenshield, but the men seemed to have none of that. First names, always and only. He wondered if perhaps that was why everyone insisted on calling him 'Mister' here, no matter how many times he insisted otherwise. Well, except for Alfrid, who barely called him anything that bore repeating.

"A pleasure to meet you Sigrid," Bilbo smiled. "Now, where would you like this basket?"

"To the top floor, if it's no trouble?" she asked, her accent as broad as any other denizen of Lake Town.

"No trouble at all," he replied, glad to have a little company as they began to make their way carefully across the tap room with the heavily laden basket. Bilbo could see it was full of mismatched towels, some of which he recognised. "You work here then, Miss Sigrid? With John?"

"I do the laundry," she smiled. "I collect it and take it home for washing, then bring it back the next day. Mister John said I could do it here at first, but I can look after Tilda, Bain, and the house while Pa is at work this way."

Bilbo nodded as they reached the stairs. "Tilda and Bain are your siblings?"

"That's right," she said as they synchronised their careful ascent. "Bain doesn't truly need to be looked after now, but he's pestering Pa about getting work for himself too, so someone will need to be there for Tilly a few years yet."

It didn't escape Bilbo that there was no mention of a mother, but he didn't ask. It seemed fairly evident that this young girl was the woman of the house, something the hobbit felt immediately kindred to her for. He had been thrust into the position of the Master of Bag End and head of the Baggins family far too young himself, his father having passed when Bilbo was barely of age. It was a heavy burden to bear.

"What a good and diligent girl you are, Miss Sigrid," Bilbo complimented as they reached the first landing. "Your Pa must be very proud of you."

The girl flushed at his genuine praise as they took the second set of stairs. "I think he is. He's a good man, he loves us all something fierce, and he always compliments my cooking."

"Ah! A fellow cook!" Bilbo grinned happily. "I do always think that you can tell when food is made with love. I'm sure your Pa can tell, too!"

"Thank you sir," she laughed. "Are you a guest here? Or do you work for John too?"

"I'm staying here with friends for a few months," he confided, and they reached the second landing and took a short break from their climb. He was not used to stairs. Hobbits didn't have stairs the way men did. A hobbit smial was all on one level, unless there were a few steps up to the front door, as Bag End had. If not for all the travel and adventure since April, Bilbo admitted he would have been quite puffed out by now. "My friend Nori works the bar for John in the afternoons and evenings, and my friend Thorin works at the blacksmith."

"Oh!" Sigrid cried, her eyes wide. "The dwarves? But... are you a dwarf?"

Bilbo couldn't help but laugh at this, imagining how Thorin might react to someone being even mildly suspicious that the beardless little burglar of the company might be a dwarf. He would likely laugh himself sick!

"No Miss Sigrid, I am not a dwarf," he told her kindly. "I am a hobbit."

"Oh," Sigrid said again, though much more softly, bowing her head and not quite looking at him all of a sudden. "I've heard of you, I think. You work for... for Alfrid."

Bilbo was a little taken aback by the sudden change in demeanour. Alfrid, he knew first hand, was an extremely unpleasant individual. It stood to reason that he was not well liked amongst the townsfolk, and perhaps Bilbo's association with him had caused the young Sigrid to become wary?

"I work at the Town Hall, yes," he admitted, trying to put her at ease with a smile. "My friend Gandalf called in a favour the Master owed from some years back to get me set up here for the duration of our stay."

"So you work for the Master?" Sigrid pressed, looking fearful. Bilbo held up his hands placatingly, about to try and explain that he had little do to with anything except dusting and restoring books, but the girl bent down and snatched up the basket currently on the floor by their feet. "I must go. Thank you for your help today, sir."

With that, she turned on her heel and hurried away, up the final flight of stairs without so much as looking up. For a moment Bilbo considered going after her, trying to explain, but he could see she was afraid and that pursuing her might only make things worse. His heart sank a bit, and he was once again assailed by a feeling of deep loneliness. More than that, it troubled him to see such a reaction from a child. He knew the Master and Alfrid were not good people, but so far he had yet to see anything more than rudeness and greed. Off putting, to be sure, but not dangerous.

Dropping his hands into his pockets, Bilbo turned and headed back to the tap room with a sigh and a thoughtful frown.

Chap 10

The morning had rather crawled by for Bilbo. After he had returned to the tap room, he finally seated himself in a chair by the fireplace, and after much deep thought, he picked up his sewing to keep his hands busy.

Yule was approaching, and while funds were tight, he had suggested the idea of exchanging a small gift for each of them, but from the other three. It meant everyone got something to honour the tradition, without spending more than they could afford. Bilbo had come up with the idea of making Thorin some gloves to use in the forge, something Dwalin and Nori had both heartily agreed with as a good gift.

Dwalin admitted that as travelling smiths they would always have their own gloves, as the forges of men never had anything in the correct size for a dwarf. Bilbo hadn't needed to ask why Thorin hadn't simply purchased a new pair, he knew very well that their stubborn leader would sooner bite his own hand off than admit he needed something for himself.

So, Bilbo was glad of the excuse to solve this issue without any wounded pride. He had purchased some soft leather and fleece for the lining, they had used Dwalin's hands as a measurement, and Nori had cut out the pattern. Now Bilbo was stitching it all together with great care, and quite pleased with the result so far. He was almost done, both gloves now assembled, and just in need of finishing off. It had occurred to him that dwarves seemed very keen on decoration of their possessions, so he planned to do a little embroidery at the cuff of each glove to make them a little more special and personal.

When his fingers began to cramp a little, he put the gloves away, had a cup of tea and a chat with John, and considered going back up to the room to drag Dwalin's lazy backside out of bed by force. John seemed to find this idea quite amusing, and Bilbo supposed he wouldn't be able to move the big dwarf even if he threw all of his weight at him. Instead, he said he might go get his coat and go to meet Thorin from work. No sooner had the idea occurred to him, did he feel much happier than he had all morning. It would be a lovely turnaround for him to go and escort the dwarf home, and he had found he missed those moments together over the weekend.

John had offered him a warm cloak, citing that he might be best to stay out of the room for now, and Bilbo had to admit he didn't want to face Nori's ire for being woken again. His friend worked hard, long hours behind the bar, and Dwalin mouldering away in bed all morning was hardly his fault.

So, Bilbo took the short cloak quite gladly, and set off out into the snow. It was bitterly cold, and the snow had settled deeply enough that it now came up to his mid-calf. For a brief moment he reconsidered his plan, then thought about how fun it would be for Thorin to find him waiting for his shift at the smithy to end, and began to trudge towards the Town Hall. He didn't know where the forge actually was, but Thorin had said it was on his way while he walked Bilbo to and from his own day of work, so it seemed the logical direction.

The closer he got to the market, the more he found other people had already walked through the thick, white snow, leaving little trenches for the small hobbit to follow. He was glad for it, as his clothes were getting wet, and that was making him feel even colder than he already did. Eventually, he wandered past the square where the Town Hall sat, still and undisturbed entirely, and looked around for a likely looking path. After a bit of this aimless meandering, he spotted a woman carrying firewood.

"Excuse me?" he asked, dropping a short, respectful bow to the older lady, who looked down at him with open bemusement. "Might you be so kind as to direct me to the smithy? I'm a little lost."

"I should say you are, boy," she laughed, clearly mistaking him for a child, his feet hidden by the snow. "It's on the east side of the town, back past the market and beyond the watchtower, that way."

Bilbo looked back the way she pointed, and could see the tall, rickety watchtower on the other side of the town. He frowned, deeply confused by this. "Are you certain? Perhaps there's a different smithy?"

"Nay lad, just the one," she patted his shoulder. "Run by Len, greedy cuss that he is. Lucky he's got that dwarf working for him now, he can charge what he usually would without it being daylight robbery."

Something cold settled in the pit of Bilbo's gut as he stared over at the watchtower. "Not much of a smith himself, then?"

"Eh," she shrugged. "He can patch a kettle well enough, but nothing draws folks in like a dwarf at a forge. I've heard Len's raking it in."

"And the dwarf?" Bilbo asked lightly.

"Who cares," the woman huffed, then turned to leave, calling over her shoulder. "You be careful in this snow, boy! What will your mother say if you slip and fall in the lake, ey?"

"Not much," he muttered, trying to quell the anger roiling inside his small frame and threatening to pop right out of his mouth. Who cares? Well, he did as a matter of fact. This smith, Len, was getting rich off of Thorin's skill and labour, and his friend didn't even have the protective equipment he needed! It was a disgrace!

Stomping his way back the way he had come, Bilbo tried not to think about the other reason he was cross. He stuffed it down inside himself, not willing to acknowledge it, not wanting to admit that it had happened, certain there was a misunderstanding of some kind.

Instead he focused on the words of the old woman, and the image of the greedy blacksmith who was taking advantage of his friend. His upstanding, honourable, and honest friend, who would never lie to him, no matter the circumstances. Bilbo must have simply misunderstood, or misheard when Thorin had said the Town Hall was on his way to the forge. It wasn't impossible, despite his sensitive ears. He had been very high-strung that first morning on his way to the Town Hall, perhaps he hadn't been paying attention? Thorin would not lie to him. He just wouldn't.

He didn't know why it unsettled him so much, to think of Thorin stretching the truth. It was a fairly harmless lie, if that was the case, and from anyone else Bilbo realised it wouldn't have clutched at him in quite the same way. In fact he'd have likely not given it any thought at all, except curiosity for such an odd mistruth. For some reason, though, the thought of Thorin Oakenshield being dishonest felt horrible. Perhaps even more so because it was such a small lie. A pointless lie.

If a lie had been told at all, which Bilbo was sure couldn't be right. Why would he say such a thing if it weren't true?

Puffing out an irritated little breath through his nose, brows furrowed, Bilbo resolved not to think about it. No. It hardly mattered. If Thorin had lied to him, if, then he must have had his reasons. Bilbo had lied before, and over small things, too. Polite lies, to make someone feel better. Bigger lies, to smooth over difficulties. Everyone lied sometimes! It would be foolish to assume and believe that Thorin had never lied before.

But he was not thinking about it. No. Because if he thought too hard about it, he might get stuck on the idea that he had never once lied to Thorin. Not once, no matter how much easier it might have made their early relationship.

It hardly mattered, anyway. It was surely a misunderstanding.

He could smell the forge before he saw it, he suddenly realised. It was a scent now familiar to him, hot, smokey, and with a tang of metal that lingered around Thorin like a cloak. As he drew closer, passing beneath the watchtower at last, he sniffed delicately, trying to discern if this was the odd scent that lingered around Lake Town quite strongly on some mornings. It was very similar, and he wondered if perhaps it had something to do with different metals, or fuels, even. He would have to ask Thorin, perhaps...

"That's enough out of you!" An angry voice snapped Bilbo back to the present, and he looked up in surprise. "You can take the work or not, but I don't want to hear any more of your complaining!"

Bilbo blinked, almost not believing the tableau playing out before his eyes. There stood Thorin, King of Durin's folk, arms folded almost defensively over his chest, and standing over him was a man with contemptuous sneer plastered over his face. The man was practically bent over, almost nose to nose with Thorin, and looking at him as though he were a bug on his floor. The dwarf, for his part, looked tense. Wary, almost. It was not a look he might ever have expected to see on that face, and certainly not while being spoken to in so disrespectful a manner.

"I do not mean to complain," Thorin replied steadily, not moving a muscle. "I only seek fair payment for my work."

"You knew the terms when I hired you, dwarf!"

Bilbo couldn't help but flinch. It was too similar to Alfrid calling him 'Halfling'. Spitting it out like a curse. Like a slur. Something to be ashamed of.

"Aye, but now you know my work is good," Thorin replied, quite diplomatically under the circumstances, Bilbo thought. "You know you may sell what I make for a decent profit, and I ask only enough to pay for my room and board at the Inn."

"That's double what you already get," the man scoffed. "No, dwarf. You take what I offer, or you leave. No skin off my nose, either way."

When the man spat on the floor at Thorin's feet, Bilbo felt a rush of fury. How dare he! How dare he treat Thorin in such a way! He was lucky Dwalin wasn't here, or he'd have beaten the man within an inch of his life! As it was, there was only a small, furious hobbit in the vicinity, and baring his teeth, Bilbo lurched forward, not really sure what he was going to do, but knowing he could no longer stand by and watch.

His sudden movement caught Thorin's attention, however, and Bilbo stopped dead at the sudden look of fear that seized the dwarf's face. He watched as his friend's face then flushed deep red, and he turned away quickly, a frown furrowing his brow even as he bowed his head.

"Yes sir," Thorin spoke quickly, though his voice was tight. "I apologise. Good afternoon."

Bilbo watched, completely dumbfounded, as Thorin dipped his head in a short bow, then turned and stalked towards him. His head was still bowed, but Bilbo could tell from the set of his shoulders and the way his hands were clenched that he was furious. Still frozen on the spot, he half expected Thorin to grab him as he passed, to take his shoulder or his arm and drag him away, but he didn't. He walked right by Bilbo, not so much as acknowledging him as he did so.

He watched Thorin leave, and for a moment considered just letting him go. For a moment Bilbo had seriously considered throwing hands at the man, and it occurred to him that doing so would not have only cost Thorin his job, but possibly got them all kicked out of Lake Town. In the moment he had been full of righteous fury on the dwarf's behalf, but now he realised just what he might have cost them. If Thorin had been able to keep his temper, then what was Bilbo's excuse?

Sighing in defeat of his own stupid feelings, Bilbo followed along behind Thorin. He trotted a little to catch him up, careful of the slippery ice and snow. As he came up beside his still clearly cross friend, he was relieved when a familiar hand was laid firmly at his back to keep him steady. He had been fine under his own steam, trying to ignore the sloshing water, now accompanied by quietly crunching and scraping ice under the boardwalks of Lake Town. Still, he felt safer knowing Thorin was there. Just in case.

They walked in silence for a little while, and Bilbo considered his options. On the one hand he felt he ought to apologise. He had jeopardised their place here, and in so doing he had cut short Thorin's attempt to negotiate better pay for himself. On the other hand, perhaps it would be better to pretend it hadn't happened at all, and speak of small, inconsequential things?

In the end, the choice was removed from his consideration. They reached a bridge near the market, and Thorin slowed them to a stop. He didn't look at Bilbo, but released his hold and crossed his arms as he stared down at his boots.

"What are you doing here?" Thorin ground out at last, sounding like he was on the very edge of his temper.

It took every ounce of Bilbo's stubbornness not to flinch at the tone. Thorin wasn't looking at him, so it really wouldn't matter if he did, but he was determined not to anyway. It seemed to have hurt Thorin's feelings last time, and that was the last thing he ever wanted.

"I thought it would be nice to come and walk you home," Bilbo tried, then stopped when the dwarf tensed further.

"You should not have come," he snapped. "I don't want you anywhere near the forge, nor wandering about by yourself like a stray cat!"

"Like a...? I beg your pardon!" Bilbo spluttered. "I am a grown hobbit, thank you very much! I will come and go as I please!"

Thorin looked up at him then, eyes flashing angrily. "It's dangerous!"

"It's been dangerous since I left Hobbiton!" Bilbo snapped back.

"You can't swim!" Thorin bellowed, as though this were some sort of trump card with which to win the argument. Bilbo tried not to react, nor think about the water beneath their feet, but something must have shown in his face as Thorin reigned his temper back in with great effort. "What if you had slipped? You would have likely drowned, and we would not have known anything was amiss for hours! What do you think that would have meant?"

Bilbo scoffed, the horrible, bitter feeling that had been simmering in his chest all day twisting unpleasantly. "I suppose it would have meant you would need to hire a new burglar, wouldn't it?"

"That's what you think concerns me!" Thorin grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders then, but the hobbit automatically shoved him away. Or he might have done, if he were any kind of physical match for Thorin, which, of course, he was not. Instead his hands came up against the dwarf's chest, and when pushing did nothing, he grasped the fur of his surcoat instead, his temper quite snapping.

"You lied to me!"

As soon as he shouted, he regretted it. Of all the things he might have said, why did it have to be that? It was ridiculous to be so upset by something so petty, but it hurt. It hurt, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He dropped his hands from Thorin's coat and looked away.

"You lied to me," he repeated, his voice quieter now, but unsteady. "You told me the Town Hall was on your way to the smithy, and it isn't. It's on the other side of the town. You lied."

It sounded pathetic to his own ears, and he stared miserably at the snowy peak of Erebor in the distance. He vaguely wondered if the clear view of the mountain afforded on this bridge was why Thorin had stopped them here in the first place. He heard Thorin sigh.

"Look at me," he commanded, albeit softly. Bilbo stubbornly refused, shifting his gaze to glare down at Thorin's boots instead.

"Forget I said anything," Bilbo tried to shrug Thorin's hands from where they still held his shoulders, but to little avail. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters," Thorin said firmly. "I have broken your trust, and I'm sorry for it. Will you not look at me, so I might apologise and explain my reasoning?"

Bilbo did look, though mostly out of surprise. He immediately saw how seriously the dwarf was taking this, and felt oddly better about it all. Thorin moved his hands from Bilbo's shoulders in just a little, so they were resting on the juncture of his neck instead. The warmth of the dwarf's skin bled into the coldness of his own as they touched, and Bilbo felt his cheeks warm.

"Forgive me," Thorin began, his expression and tone earnest. "I feared for your safety and comfort. On our first day here, you joked about being afraid of falling in the lake, and I have since seen how unsettled you are on the water. I thought to help assuage your fear by keeping you company, but worried I might insult your pride if I said as much. It was a lie that was well meant, but a lie nonetheless."

A huge weight seemed to be lifted from Bilbo then, and he felt his temper all but disappear as though it were never there. Relaxing immediately, he reached up and placed his hands over Thorin's thick wrists.

"Of course I forgive you," he said, smiling a little in the face of Thorin's obvious surprise. "But please promise me you won't do that again. I understand why you did it, and having you with me does make me feel much safer, but I wouldn't have refused you for my pride, you know. You work so hard, and it only adds another chore to your day..."

"What if it were not a chore?" Thorin replied quickly. "I confess, I have grown to enjoy our little walks. I... would be sorry if they were to stop."

Bilbo smiled a little wryly at that. "I'd be sorry too, really. I've missed you today."

"Then it's settled," Thorin declared, looking pleased. "We will continue to walk together on your days of work."

"For pleasure," Bilbo interjected, and Thorin smiled warmly.

"For pleasure," he agreed.

"And you won't lie to me again?" Bilbo pressed, feeling hesitant all of a sudden. Perhaps he was being too pushy, but he needed Thorin to say it. To promise.

"I swear it," the dwarf king obliged immediately, sliding one of his hands to rest at the back of Bilbo's neck. "I would have honesty between us, as much as either of us are able."

It was difficult not to question this, but it occurred to Bilbo that he had his own secrets to keep. He had taken care not to out rightly lie to Thorin, but it was a technicality, really. Omitting the truth of things Gandalf had told him might still be seen as a lie if the dwarf were to find out, not to mention that Thorin was a king. There were bound to be things he wouldn't be able to share with a hobbit. Promising to be as honest as they were both able seemed a fair way around things, especially as it had been the smallness of the lie that had upset Bilbo the most.

"I would have a promise from you too, Master Baggins."

"Oh?"

"Promise me you will not come to the forge in search of me again," Thorin said seriously, dropping his hands away from Bilbo at last and leaving the hobbit feeling terribly bereft. "I wish you had not come today. I wish you had not seen what you did."

"I'm sorry," Bilbo apologised with a heavy sigh. "I didn't mean to cause you trouble, and we both know I'd have not made much of a dent in that fellow's kneecaps either way, but if it makes you feel better I promise not to come to the forge in search of you, unless there's an emergency or I have no other choice."

He felt it was important to add the caveat to his promise, especially given that they had also just promised one another they would be as honest as they could be. If he needed to get Thorin, if something were to happen, he didn't want it to come up later as a cause for contention. Luckily the dwarf seemed to accept his amendment in the spirit it was meant, and simply nodded.

"I find it strangely pleasing to think you might have waged a battle against Len's kneecaps in defence of me, but that isn't why I would ask you to stay away," the corner of Thorin's mouth kicked up at the corner, then he turned to look at Erebor in the distance and frowned. "The truth is that I'm ashamed."

Bilbo sucked in a sharp breath. "Ashamed? Thorin, what could you possibly have to be ashamed about?"

Thorin didn't answer right away. He leaned on the wooden railing of the bridge and continued to stare silently at his mountain, eyes distant and troubled. Bilbo didn't want to press him. He knew the dwarf was reticent with his emotions at the best of times, and likely with fair reason. It must be hard to be a leader, a king no less. Of course Bilbo knew Thorin confided in Dwalin and Balin, at the very least, but for the others he was more guarded. Not because he didn't trust them -Bilbo knew without a doubt that Thorin trusted every dwarf in his company implicitly- but because he had a facade to maintain. A leader. A king. A symbol.

Bilbo didn't want Thorin to pretend with him, though. He wanted to believe him when he said they were friends. He wanted to be someone Thorin could confide in, be himself with. Someone he didn't have to hide behind his mask of stoic, regal, seriousness. Bilbo had managed to make him laugh a few times now, each and every instance a shining moment of pleasure in his own mind, but this was something else. This required patience, and patience was something Bilbo could do.

Reaching inside his borrowed cloak and his tunic, he pulled out his pipe and leaned on the railing beside Thorin without a word. He packed the bowl of his pipe with care, and when he was satisfied, he lit it and took a deep pull. It was the mannish weed he was using, but it really wasn't so bad, and he had grown rather fond of the strange, earthy scent and flavour of it over the past few weeks.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Thorin remove his own pipe and follow Bilbo's lead. He felt pleased that they could share even this level of companionship after their rocky start; there had been a time when he could never have imagined such a moment.

Waiting until Thorin had his pipe lit too, Bilbo blew out a pretty little smoke ring and nudged the dwarf very gently.

"Talk to me."

The simple, quiet request seemed to dislodge whatever it was that was choking Thorin's words, and standing shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the mountain they had travelled so far to reach, he sighed. He moved very slightly so that his arm was pressed up against Bilbo's, as though to anchor himself somehow.

"I never thought I would have to live like this again," Thorin admitted. "I have worked as a labourer for many years now, and swallowed the shame of it in favour of being able to provide for my kin and my people in the only way I could. It was not what I was raised for, as such, but there was a pride in being able to take care of those who relied on me, no matter how demeaning and unpleasant the reality. But now... here. Of all places."

Bilbo could understand that on some level, and looked out at the mountain with a slightly different perspective. He had been thinking of Erebor as his friend's home, which of course it was, but he hadn't stopped to think that to Thorin it was more than that. It should be -would be- the seat of his power as king. His birthright. Of course he would feel it keenly, to be so close, in the very shadow of the mountain and all his life might have been, working as a blacksmith for a man who degraded him. Who spat at his feet, and called him 'dwarf' like it was an insult.

"What's more, I have lowered myself here, broken an oath I made to myself to never dirty my hands in this way again," Thorin continued, his deep voice steady, but the arm pressed against Bilbo was tense, revealing his suppressed anger. "I swore in Bree, after meeting with Gandalf when he suggested this quest, that I would not labour for the pleasure of men again. I promised myself that I would take back Erebor, or die trying."

It was difficult not to react to this last statement. Gandalf's words came back to haunt the hobbit immediately, the knowledge that three of the company wouldn't have survived if they had reached the hidden door as planned. Bilbo pushed the dark, horrible feeling aside. No, it wouldn't have been Thorin. It could never have been Thorin. The very idea was ludicrous. Thorin was the strongest of them all, the heart of the whole quest. There was no way he wouldn't survive, and triumph. Bilbo believed in that outcome more than he had ever believed in anything his whole life.

"Now I'm here," Thorin sighed, lowering his gaze from the peak on the horizon. "Breaking my word, and to little avail. I've sullied my honour to stay in the sight of the mountain, and I cannot even earn enough to pay my own way. You, for all my cruelty and callous words, are the only reason we are able to remain. And I am ashamed."

Bilbo looked up at Thorin, wide eyed and shocked at this sudden turn of events. Something strange was bubbling in his chest, and he suddenly wanted to cry. It took a moment for him to master his churning emotions, and when he did, he couldn't help but reach out and gently grasp Thorin's elbow.

"I don't want that for you, Thorin," he said, trying not to sound as choked as he felt. "You've done so much for me. You, and all the others, but especially you. I've been nothing but a burden this whole quest..."

"You saved my life, Master Baggins," Thorin reminded him, cutting across his words quickly and firmly.

"You've saved my life often," Bilbo replied, just as quickly. "Not just from wargs and orcs, nor even from stone giants and slippery mountain trails, but from starvation, exposure, and sheer exhaustion. Without you -all of you- I wouldn't have even made it past the Trollshaws. Is it really so shameful to you that I might at last be able to return the favour? Even in this tiny way?"

"You would not have even been in those situations if not for me," Thorin huffed, then amended his words. "If not for us. You would be safe in your little burrow in the kindly west, warm, well fed, and not having to do... whatever it is you do in the Town Hall each day."

"I restore books!" Bilbo said immediately, then saw the way Thorin eyed him with flat disbelief, and felt the need to hide the truth of his own work disappear. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I do restore books, as it happens, but mostly I dust and mop, and reorganise."

"I knew it," Thorin practically growled, and Bilbo reached out to pat his arm comfortingly.

"Now now, it's not so bad," he tried for a smirk in an attempt to reassure. "Truly I think Alfrid is just trying to keep me out of the way. I may have given him some reason to worry I'm after his job, so now he finds little offices and rooms to tuck me away in, so the Master never sees me. Not that I mind, of course. I much prefer that they both leave me to my own devices."

"Are they cruel to you?" Thorin still sounded very cross, his voice deep and rolling like thunder.

"I don't see them, really," Bilbo admitted. "I've spoken to the Master once, and that was with Gandalf. He was a bit rude, but I think he's that way with everyone, in truth. Bit puffed up on his own self-importance, if you see what I mean. We don't have lords and such in the Shire, so I followed Gandalf's lead and called him Lord Othur, which was apparently incorrect," Bilbo made a face, remembering the horrible little exchange. "They insisted I call him sire or my lord."

"Do not call him that," Thorin snapped suddenly, his blue eyes blazing as he looked back at Bilbo. Immediately he glanced away again, contrite about his outburst. "Forgive me, I don't mean to dictate to you, but... in my culture, to call someone 'My Lord' denotes... fealty, amongst other things. I know it isn't your way, Master Baggins, but I... I would not like to hear you speak so of someone so wholly undeserving of your allegiance."

Bilbo was greatly taken aback by the initial vehemence of Thorin's reaction, but more so now by his apparent discomfort and uncharacteristic hesitance. None of the dwarrow really spoke of their culture so directly, no matter how much he questioned, prodded, and irritated them about it. Bilbo was curious by nature, and while he wanted to be respectful of their secrecy, he couldn't help but thirst for knowledge. Oh he had managed to glean a few things here and there, of course - they had been together far too long for him not to have picked up anything at all - but to have Thorin now offer up such insight with very little prompting was a surprise, and a gift.

"I admit, I thought you might take more of an issue with him demanding to be called 'sire' as amongst men that would be the way to address a king," Bilbo shrugged, his shoulder still pressed up against Thorin's warmth. "Is it different with dwarrow?"

Thorin chewed the stem of his pipe, as he was wont to do when he was thinking deeply. Bilbo found this to be a terribly bad habit, one he had often wrinkled his nose at in the early weeks of their quest. Now it was something he watched with fond exasperation, something he might have chastised anyone else for, for fear of ruining the pipe or even damaging his teeth.

"Not as such, no," Thorin spoke at length, still looking uncomfortable. "To call someone 'My Lord' is a formal mode of address, but there's a familiarity to it. A certain level of intimacy. It is difficult to explain in westron, but in a courtly setting amongst my people, you might refer to Balin as 'Lord Balin' to show your respect, but he is not your lord."

"Oh!" Bilbo felt he suddenly understood, keenly taking in all Thorin was saying with deep interest. "You said it was about fealty and allegiance, so someone I have sworn myself to?"

"In a manner of speaking..."

"So, you then!" Bilbo smiled up at the dwarf king. "I could call you My Lord, as I daresay you're the only person I have ever offered myself in service of. Is that-?"

"A husband, Bilbo," Thorin spoke very loudly, his face flushed in the grey daylight, expression filled with open mortification. He then ducked his head and mumbled. "If you were to wed a dwarrow, that is how you would refer to your husband."

Bilbo looked down at the pipe in his hand and tried not to fidget, his own embarrassment a living thing as he realised his blunder. No wonder Thorin looked so horrified. The very idea of the two of them... Well.

"Well, that's unlikely," Bilbo forced out a laugh, trying to break the tension and stop his unpleasant spiral of thoughts. "I'm not much of a catch to a dwarf, I shouldn't think!"

Thorin made an odd movement with his arm, but seemed to abort the motion almost as soon as it began. Instead, he took a sharp pull of his pipe, holding to smoke from the pipeweed in his lungs for a good amount of time before he blew it back out from between his lips very quickly.

"Any would be lucky to win your hand, Master Baggins," Thorin spoke with a sort of gruff kindness that Bilbo appreciated after his embarrassing gaffe. Still, he snorted in amusement and nudged the dwarf playfully.

"Flattery will get you anywhere, you know."

"I did not seek to flatter you, only to speak the truth," Thorin smiled, and Bilbo saw he was watching him from the corner of his eye. "But consider your words noted."

Bilbo laughed genuinely this time, and was glad for this gentle banter. The ease between them was welcome, and he was glad to put aside his wounded pride in the face of this warm camaraderie. It was easy to get lost in his longing for Thorin, his silly little feelings and desires, but the fact was that he had wanted his friendship and respect for far longer, and it was a prize well worth the effort. He wouldn't trade it for anything in all the world.

It reminded him of what they had originally been speaking of, and while he knew there was little he could do to help Thorin with his struggles, he still wanted to try. Reaching to the breast pocket of his shirt, buried beneath his cloak and tunic, Bilbo pulled out something small, round, and metal.

"I want you to have this, Thorin," he said, turning towards the dwarf and offering the little copper coin, slightly warm from where it sat so close to his body. When he saw Thorin frown in confusion, he realised he needed to elaborate. "It's my lucky coin. It was minted in the Shire on the day I was born, and my father kept it with him until I came of age, then gave it to me to keep."

Thorin continued to stare at the coin in silence, making no move to take it. Bilbo laughed a little awkwardly. "Just one of his funny little ideas, I think. Bit of a romantic, my father, though he'd not have thanked anyone for saying so. Still! He said it would bring me luck, and I believe it has. It's a comforting thought, either way!"

"Bilbo," Thorin wrapped his warm fingers around the hobbit's outstretched hand, and looked at him searchingly. "I can't possibly take this."

"Consider it a loan," Bilbo tried, his gaze flicking back towards the mountain, where the dragon waited. "For here, in Lake Town."

Yes, he would probably quite like to have it back for next Durin's Day, once they got the door open. He looked back to Thorin, who was watching him with such intensity that the hobbit felt his cheeks warm a little.

"Please Thorin, I want you to take it," he tried again, unsure where this strong urge to give the coin to the dwarf king was coming from, but deciding not to question it. "I know there isn't much I can say or do to help with the turmoil you're dealing with, and I can't pretend to understand fully what you're going through, but, well... if it counts for anything at all, I hope you know how much I respect and admire you for what you're doing."

His words started to tumble out of his mouth, and he stared hard at their joined hands. Thinking about all they had been through since April, and all Thorin had seen and suffered beforehand, all the grief and sorrow, and how he had pinned everything on this one chance, this tiny possibility of success.

"I... I know it's hard to be in a situation where you feel like you aren't good enough, or like you fall short of the mark no matter how hard you try, but I see you every day battling insurmountable odds, fuelled by your hope and faith, and I just... I think it so admirable," he continued quickly, then took a breath before repeating himself with emphasis. "So admirable."

Bilbo felt terribly ashamed that he hadn't thought to check in on Thorin since they had arrived in Lake Town, to see how he was bearing up against the deep, abiding disappointment that had engulfed him so utterly when he realised they would miss Durin's Day. The hobbit had been sorry at first, but the more he had thought on it, the more he'd come to realise that the extra time was a blessing. Especially after what Gandalf had told him might have happened otherwise, which he had chosen not to share for fear of causing the same pain he felt in his chest when he thought about it too hard. He sighed.

"I've lived a very sheltered and easy life, because truly I was born with an inordinate amount of luck, and I know you said you think we make our own luck, but perhaps you might consider this my way of making some luck for you. If there's some way for me to impart even a fraction of my good fortune, I want to try. So please." Bilbo's gaze flicked up to Thorin, but stopped at his bearded chin, before returning to focus on the large hand engulfing his own. "Please take this, and carry it with you. For luck."

He wasn't even sure he was making sense anymore, and forced himself to stop speaking as he quickly tried to replay his own words back over in his mind, to see if he had said anything he ought not. He probably had, but he had been lonely today. Terribly, horribly lonely. He hadn't felt so isolated since his parents had died, and it had made him sentimental. Needy, he supposed.

And foolish, he added mentally, when the long silence continued. Trying to think of some way to take back all the over-emotional tosh that had escaped his traitorous tongue the past few moments, Bilbo hardly paid any mind to Thorin placing his pipe down on the wooden railing of the bridge. He watched almost absently as the dwarf's now free hand moved towards him, and he started in surprise as warm, calloused fingers threaded through his curly hair.

Bilbo's gaze flew up to Thorin's face as his hand came to rest at the base of his skull, tilting his head back. His heart stuttered in his chest at the impossibly soft look in those blue eyes, then it leapt into his throat as Thorin descended. There was a split second where, frozen in shock, he thought the dwarf meant to kiss him, but instead he brought their foreheads together in a tender press.

Thorin's eyes closed, and he sighed as the contact was made. Their breaths mingled in the cold air, the scent of Thorin's pipeweed and beard oil filling the space between them, the warmth of him sinking deep into Bilbo's bones. Somehow it felt more intimate than any kiss he had ever experienced.

"Thank you," Thorin whispered, and Bilbo's own eyes fluttered closed. "I would be honoured to carry this piece of you with me."

Bilbo, for all he hadn't been able to shut himself up only moments before, suddenly had absolutely nothing to say. He couldn't help but compare this to the short, gentle bumps on the forehead from Fili and Kili before they had left for the Iron Hills. This was different. Deeper. Heavier. Thorin's thumb was rubbing small circles through his hair, and they stood there for a long moment, just breathing together.

Warmth pooled in his gut, even as his heart pounded like a frightened rabbit and he tried his hardest to keep his breathing steady. The longing he felt, the terrible urge to tilt his chin up just a little further and press their mouths together, to steal a kiss and prove himself some sort of burglar at last, was near overwhelming. He felt himself drifting forward, and for a split second he thought he felt Thorin move the tiniest breath closer, too. The need he felt grasped his insides, twisting and tugging, urging him onwards. He ached with it.

Instead, he dropped his pipe.

"Oh!" he broke away from Thorin automatically, looking down in surprise to where the smouldering, wooden pipe sat, melting a little divot in the snow. He wanted to curse his own clumsiness for breaking the moment, even as Thorin released his hold on him and bent to retrieve the pipe from the ground without a word. Bilbo laughed a little nervously, running his own hand through the hair on the back of his head, where Thorin's fingers had been buried only moments before. "Sorry!"

Thorin only smiled at him, handing the pipe back. Bilbo took it, then offered the coin once again. This time Thorin didn't hesitate, his smile growing softer as he accepted the token, turning it over in his fingers and inspecting it with interest.

Bilbo knocked the ashes from the bowl of his pipe and tried not to appear as flustered as he felt. Vaguely he wondered if such a gift might mean something different to dwarrow, perhaps something more symbolic, but he chose not to pursue the topic. Instead he watched as Thorin tucked the coin into his own breast pocket, inside his undershirt and over his heart.

A strange little thought occurred to him then, blooming like a match being struck in darkness.

Chap 11

"I think you're reading too much into all this."

Thorin looked up at Dwalin, arms crossed and brows furrowed, and tried not to sigh. They were in the tap room of The Pike, which was mostly empty due to it being Yuletide, and waiting for Nori and Bilbo to come out from the kitchen. The bar was technically open, but John, having no family of his own, had given Nori the day off, and they had decided they would all eat, drink, and be merry together with the landlord. Bilbo's idea, apparently, though Thorin found he wasn't sorry for it. John had proven himself to be a very rare, decent man, and had treated them all fairly, as well as with kindness.

It seemed Bilbo was incredibly excited about the holiday, doing everything he could to pull together a cosy little celebration for the five of them to enjoy. At first Thorin had been sceptical, then John had joined in his excitement and proposed closing the bar early. Nori had gone out and found a Yule Log for them to burn in the fireplace later, and Dwalin had actually taken a few days to go hunting in the surrounding woods, coming back with a wild boar for their feast.

Thorin had felt his concerns slide away at the way Bilbo had lit up and begun to talk excitedly about how they could cook the beast, and what dishes they might be able to scrape together to accompany it. It had made him a little annoyed with his cousin that he had thought to do such a thing, while Thorin himself had only offered worries and protests. He had brought very little to contribute to the festivities of the day, and he felt it keenly.

To make matters more complicated, a Honey Buzzard had arrived from the Iron Hills, bearing a pile of long-awaited letters for the three dwarrow, and for Bilbo. It would have been cause for good cheer, and in fact it still was, but Thorin felt conflicted. They had sorted the letters for their intended recipients, and Bilbo himself had three. One was from Balin, and the other, Thorin suspected, from Fili and Kili, as he recognised their handwriting. The last was the one that unsettled him the most, for he could not tell who had sent it.

"D'you want me to open it?" Dwalin offered. "I could say it was an accident."

"No," Thorin replied gruffly, shooting his cousin a hard look. "It is Bilbo's letter, and he should be the one to open it."

Dwalin shrugged. "At least you'd know whether or not to toss it on the fire before he comes back, is all I'm saying."

The awful, jealous, desperate part of his heart that was tearing itself apart for his need and want of Bilbo snarled at him, and Thorin had to close his eyes for a moment to fight it back down. He remembered how disappointed and desolate the Hobbit had looked the week before when he had found out Thorin had lied about the location of the forge, and knew he never wanted to see that expression on that soft, round face ever again. Especially not directed at him.

"I'll not have lies between us," he said firmly, staring at the offending letter as though he could glean its contents through sheer willpower alone. "No matter what that means in the long term."

"It's not going to mean nothing, Thorin!" Dwalin huffed, clearly exasperated. "Because there's nothing going on between Bofur and the lad, I'd bet anything on it!"

"Keep your voice down!" Thorin hissed, looking back to the door behind the bar that led to the kitchens. It was quite firmly shut, but he knew full well that Bilbo's hearing was just as sharp as a dwarrow. The last thing he wanted was for his burglar to overhear any of this!

Truthfully, what he had planned, and what he had been doing was not strictly honourable. It went without saying that, passionate and fierce as dwarves were by nature, romantic rivalries happened often. Traditionally the way to settle such a thing was through direct, open competition, with the blessing and consent of all involved. The situation that Thorin found himself in, however, meant that Bofur was not here to defend his claim.

Thorin had lost his heart to the Hobbit. He had been attracted to him from the moment he laid his eyes on the soft, beautiful creature, and that had only grown to an unbearable level the more time they had spent together - no matter how Thorin had tried to push Bilbo away in the beginning. If anything, it had only made it worse. The more callous Thorin had been, the more determined the company burglar had become to win his approval. With each passing day, that stubbornness, bravery, and cleverness had made it incredibly difficult for the dwarf to maintain his facade. His humour and warmth, his guileless and trusting manner, his lilting laughter, his shining eyes, his silken hair and delightfully soft, rounded form...

Thorin let out a slow breath. Yes, he had been well and truly lost. He had never felt such a pull to another, and knew without a doubt that he was completely in love with Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and likely always would be.

Under normal circumstances he would have offered courtship immediately atop the Carrock. He would have made his intentions and his heart known, and done everything in his power to show Bilbo he would be a worthy suitor for him. But, he hadn't. He had decided to wait, knowing that the quest had to come first, and that until he had reclaimed Erebor he had nothing to offer of any worth.

Despite all Bilbo's genuine unaffectedness and love of simple pleasures, he was, for all intents and purposes, a lord in the Shire. Thorin knew that hobbits had no such titles, of course, for Bilbo had often told him as much, but he also knew that the Master of Bag End was wealthy, respected, and the product of two very prestigious family lines. His grandfather had been a leader of their people, and now his cousin held the position. Bilbo himself had admitted, upon the riverbank, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing with righteous fury, that he was a member of their council, and held a position not dissimilar to Balin, as a secretary and advisor of sorts.

He could not go to him on bended knee, his hands empty of anything. Yes he was a king, but not really. Not in any way that mattered. In name and lineage, but he had no throne, no crown, and his kingdom sat only a handful of miles away, guarded by a dragon. Even his halls in Ered Luin were poor, his people scattered and searching for ways to bring income to survive. He could not offer that to Bilbo, his pride wouldn't permit it.

Waiting had been a mistake, however, as Bofur had no such qualms. Despite their rivalry he liked the other dwarf - he was honest, loyal, and honourable, else he wouldn't be on this quest to begin with. Still, the Ur family were not of noble stock, and because of that Bofur had been able to offer what he might have always offered; his love, his craft, and his company.

Thorin wished now he had thought such a thing back then. He wished he could have stopped for even a moment to consider that it might not only be him watching their burglar with a quickened pulse and a covetous heart. A curse on his pride, he should have simply come to Bilbo as a blacksmith and a warrior, and bided his time to regain his wealth and status so he could offer him the true courtship he deserved.

"What makes you think there's anything between them, anyway?" Dwalin interrupted his silent beratement of his own inaction, and he glanced at his cousin before going back to glaring at the letter. "I knew Bofur had the hots for the burglar, but never saw any reason to suppose it was returned."

"Hobbits are more reserved than dwarrow," Thorin reminded him, then sighed. "In truth I had thought them only friends, until Mirkwood. I had noticed Bofur was somewhat... solicitous of Master Baggins before that, but I had thought it mere friendly concern."

Thorin lapsed into silence then, remembering how it had been Bofur to comfort Bilbo in the Misty Mountains, after Thorin himself had shouted at him so cruelly. It had been his intention to force the Hobbit to go home, fear for his safety gripping his heart and mind. The terror he had felt when Bilbo had slipped had felt like a knife in his gut, and in that moment he had realised how in love he was. It had been a horrifying moment, and he had lashed out in the force of his emotions.

"What'd he do?" Dwalin pressed again. "Wank him off through the bars, or what?"

The urge to turn and punch his shield-brother square in the face for saying such a thing was only tempered by the horrible, vivid imagining of his mind. He snarled and slammed his fist down on the table instead, sick with rage and jealousy at even a fictional scenario, even in jest.

"Do not!"

Dwalin looked immediately sorry for his words and bowed his head. "Forgive me, my King."

"It was not like that," Thorin bit out, insisting to his wild hallucinations as much as to Dwalin, trying to shake the image from his head. "Master Baggins is too gentle and well bred for such a thing, where all might see and hear. It was... of a different sort of intimacy that made me realise there was other than friendship between them."

The weeks and months in that thrice-cursed elven prison had been hard on all of them, but Bilbo had seemed to find the isolation particularly oppressive. Only Thorin himself and the Hobbit had been locked in cells alone - everyone else had been in small groups. Thorin had been furthest from everyone, then Bilbo's cell beside his, then Bofur, Gloin, and Fili next.

He had been glad to have Bilbo close, but he was the only one Thorin could speak to without all hearing his words. The dwarrow had spent days and weeks causing a ruckus, fighting any fool enough to get close and trying every possible way to get free, but Bilbo had been oddly quiet. There had been times when he had heard the Hobbit trying to speak with the elven guards that brought them food, attempting to follow Balin's lead and find a diplomatic solution, but otherwise he hadn't heard much from the cell next to him for the first few weeks.

Then, one day, Thorin had heard Bilbo stand and move to the other side of his cell, and call quietly for Bofur. Thorin had then had no choice but to listen as the Hobbit had choked out how difficult he was finding it to be locked up and alone. He missed the sky, the wind, the sun, he missed the Company, having people to speak to and be around. He'd explained to the other dwarf that, despite living alone himself, hobbits were social by nature and being secluded in Shire society was a sort of punishment reserved only for the very disreputable.

Thorin had felt helpless many times in his life, but this moment had eaten at him, rabid in its intensity. He'd listened as Bilbo bared all his pain to Bofur, seeking solace and understanding and companionship, which the other dwarf had offered readily. He'd heard the gentle comfort they had taken from one another, the ease of their conversation, the intimacy of it, and his heart had sickened.

Bilbo might have gone to anyone. Might have come to Thorin, even. But, he had not. He had gone to Bofur, then spent the night, and many nights after, sleeping against the far wall closest to the other dwarrow.

After that, Thorin had made the effort to speak with Bilbo often through the bars of his own cell, initiating long conversations that only served to strengthen his own attraction and admiration of the Hobbit. For all that, he had tried to resign himself to the fact that Bilbo didn't feel the same way, and likely never would. He would be with Bofur, whose company he preferred and sought, and Thorin would continue to watch from a distance, choking on his regret and inaction when he had the chance.

When they finally regained their freedom, Thorin had been puzzled by their decision to not share a bedroll, but he had put that down to Bilbo's Shire sensibilities. He was shy enough about bathing, so it stood to reason he might be similarly private about other aspects of his personal life. When Bilbo had offered to stay with Thorin in Lake Town rather than return home, and Bofur had not, he had reconsidered the situation deeply.

After their argument at the river, Bilbo glowing with righteous fury, standing tall and declaring himself Thorin's equal in a way that had left the dwarf king utterly spellbound, he had been further puzzled by the way the Hobbit and Bofur had taken their leave of one another. It was affectionate, but not very far from the realms of friendship. He had searched Bilbo's shining locks for a braid and bead, a promise of formal courtship from Bofur, but there had been none. He might have thought that he had read too much into things then, as Dwalin was now implying, except that Bilbo had become cross and embarrassed when Thorin had spoken of the situation. The Hobbit had all but told him there was a relationship, and to mind his own business about it.

The lack of a bead, and the distinct absence of formality between them lit hope inside Thorin. He had a chance. A year in Lake Town, his rival in love well out of the way, and a second chance to prove his worthiness as a suitor. It was underhanded to not declare his intentions, to try and win Bilbo over this way, but he had learnt the hard way in life that sometimes you had to fight dirty.

In the end he might have felt more guilt for his actions, but Bilbo himself had said that Bofur had left him in a place of uncertainty. He had not offered to stay, had not offered to take Bilbo safely home, nor even to Beorn's. He had made no official claim on the Hobbit, and as far as Thorin was concerned, that was invite enough for him to at least try to win Bilbo's heart.

If he was ever given the opportunity that Bofur had, he would have made it clear to anyone who looked what Bilbo meant to him. He would have placed a braid and bead in those soft, flaxen curls. He would have slept as close to that small form as the Hobbit would allow. Bilbo had told him he liked to know where he stood, and Thorin would make certain, if the chance was given to him, that there would be no doubt. He would make certain that Bilbo knew with complete confidence just how ingrained his very being had become in Thorin's soul. That he had somehow burrowed deep into the marrow of Thorin's bones, his name written across his heart in every language ever created. He would show him at every chance he got... if the chance was offered.

"Oh dear," Bilbo's amused voice suddenly shook Thorin from his deep thoughts, and he looked up to see the Hobbit quirking a smile from the kitchen doorway. "Not looking very festive in here. Are you two fighting?"

Thorin glanced at Dwalin a little sheepishly, feeling bad for his outburst earlier and the following, awkward silence. Dwalin smirked at him and shrugged, clearly willing to forget the whole thing.

"Nah, 'course not." his cousin said. "We're just arseholes to each other for fun sometimes."

Thorin smothered a chuckle at this, but Bilbo laughed aloud as he unlatched the bar gate and practically skipped towards them.

"Well, stop it," he pointed between them both, with a look of mock-seriousness that was completely belied by his dancing eyes. "Or I'll bang your heads together!"

"You couldn't reach, lad," Dwalin snorted, and Thorin couldn't contain his own quiet laugh. Bilbo swatted them both playfully, and it was all Thorin could do to not catch that small hand and hold it in both of his own.

"I'd give you a boost, Bilbo!" Nori called from behind him. "I'd pay good money to see that."

Bilbo laughed again at this, grinning widely as Nori joined them and the pair nudged each other companionably. He loved how easy the Hobbit was with the rest of the Company now, how he had become part of the group, the bonds of friendship as strong as between any of them. He also loved how easily Bilbo smiled and laughed now. He had always shown himself to have a wry sort of humour, even before he'd managed to win the dwarrow over, but now he was comfortable enough that he would banter and joke along with the rest. It was as though he had always been with them, and he hoped that he always would be.

"You don't have good money," Dwalin teased, though his gaze softened considerably as he looked at the other dwarf. John came out then, and Bilbo trotted up to the landlord to chat in that friendly way of his. Thorin tried to give Dwalin and Nori the illusion of privacy, sitting himself at the table and trying not to look at anything in particular.

His shield-brother reached and affectionately squeezed the back of Nori's neck, even as the pair seemed to share some sort of wordless exchange. Bilbo was far better at pretending not to notice the relationship between the two dwarrow, something he knew Dwalin and Nori were both grateful for. They were in a fragile place right now, and had been incredibly guarded around most of the Company for fear of the scrutiny. Bilbo had been incredibly discreet and thoughtful of the couple while they tried to figure things out.

There were no promises yet made, despite Dwalin offering and being told it wasn't the right time. Thorin had felt for his cousin deeply, knowing the rejection had hit him hard, for all the reasoning probably made sense on a great many levels. It hadn't stopped Dwalin from trying, though, for all he was deeply dejected at not being able to provide for his lover - a pain Thorin felt keenly in his own situation.

The difference was that Dwalin was confident in Nori's attraction to him, and was trying to use sex as his main incentive to sway his suit in his favour. Thorin had no idea if Bilbo saw him as anything more than a friend and leader. His gaze wandered back to where the Hobbit was still chatting amicably with John, his eyes alight as he told some story about a Yuletide in the Shire some years ago and the seven ways to cook pork.

Thorin smiled as he watched, not really listening, but very much enjoying the sight before him. There were times when he thought Bilbo might be attracted to him. He certainly seemed to blush and lose his usual grasp on his words when Thorin found reasons to touch him or be affectionate, but that wasn't enough to be sure. He knew that, while his burglar had grown more accustomed to dwarven displays of physical warmth and care, it wasn't how Hobbits behaved. Bilbo being flustered by Thorin's closeness might simply be a cultural difference, or worse, discomfort. He had to be careful, take his time, and be patient.

He probably shouldn't be so attracted to a Hobbit, he supposed. There was very little about him that would be deemed desirable by dwarven standards, in truth. Still, Thorin could hardly help himself, and found his eyes lingering on that small frame often, dreaming what it might be like to press that soft body down beneath his own much larger frame. To feel those quick, nimble hands in his hair and on his skin, or those short, sturdy thighs clenched about his hips. To have that clever mouth pressed against his own painfully direct and often reticent one. How would he taste? What sounds would he make? How would he want Thorin to touch him?

"...Don't know what he's waiting for honestly, it's embarrassing to watch the pair of them sometimes," Nori's voice floated into Thorin's consciousness then, for all the other dwarf was whispering. He glanced away from Bilbo and saw Dwalin and Nori smirking and watching him, whispering conspiratorially back and forth.

"Never seen him so besotted," Dwalin murmured back. "Wish his sister could see him, she'd sort all this buggering about."

"Can't blame Bilbo for not knowing though," Nori shrugged, and Thorin looked quickly back at said Hobbit to make certain he couldn't hear what was being said. "Patting him on the shoulder like he's one of his nephews..."

"Think nothing of it, Master Baggins," Dwalin intoned, in that voice he had always used since they were striplings to mock and impersonate Thorin, then he scoffed. "Honestly, he needs to just throw that lad down on the nearest available flat surface and show him how the wind blows."

"Enough!" Thorin hissed, mortified by the teasing, but mostly how true their words were. "He'll hear you!"

"That better not be more squabbling I hear," Bilbo said loudly, without so much as turning in their direction.

Dwalin recovered immediately. "Ha! Dwarrow don't squabble, lad! They fight!"

"Not on Yuletide, they don't," Bilbo turned this time and wagged his finger like he was telling off a naughty child. "Not if they want dessert!"

Dwalin immediately sobered at this, as Bilbo was likely expecting, his love of sweets well known. Thorin smirked, but was immediately caught by those bright eyes turning to him, fine brows raised, and mouth slanted.

"Don't look so smug, Thorin. That goes for you, too!"

Chastened, though still pleased the teasing had been put a stop to, Thorin smiled in what he hoped was a disarming way. "I wouldn't dream of it, Master Baggins."

He was pleased by the genuine warmth he saw in Bilbo's expression then, and the faint flush to his soft, round face as they looked at one another. Then something behind him seemed to catch the Hobbit's attention, and his eyes widened.

"What's this?"

Thorin's heart sank as he realised Bilbo had spotted the letters on the table. He had almost forgotten of their existence.

"Letters," he replied, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. "Letters from the Iron Hills."

"Are there any for me?" Bilbo asked, clasping his hands together tightly.

He looked worried, Thorin noted. Anxious. He had been waiting for word from Bofur, likely to clarify their relationship in a way they apparently hadn't been able to do before they had separated. Thorin rubbed absently at the centre of his chest, where an ache had bloomed quite out of nowhere.

"Three for you, Bilbo," Nori spoke up, now looking over the letters himself, shuffling them quickly, then smiling a little at the one who's handwriting Thorin hadn't recognised. "Got one from Ori, looks like. That's nice, I did think he might. Very fond of you, my little brother."

It took all of Thorin's self control not to sag in relief. Ori. Of course it was from Ori! The young dwarrow had struck up a friendship with Bilbo very early on, their shared interest in literature and history making for easy conversation even when the rest had no idea how to speak to the Hobbit. That Ori would write was not surprising at all, but Thorin was too grateful to be annoyed with himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Oh," Bilbo blinked in surprise, then took the letters Nori was offering. "That is lovely. I'm very fond of him too, really."

Thorin frowned, confused by the oddly muted response. He watched Bilbo carefully, though his face gave little away except for that same low-simmering anxiety, even as he fiddled with the letters in his hands.

"Do you think..." he began suddenly, then stopped, then steeled himself and tried again. "I don't want to be rude, but would anyone mind if I just quickly opened these? Just very quickly?"

It struck Thorin then that Bilbo wouldn't be able to tell from the handwriting who the other two letters were from. He was waiting to hear from Bofur, and he didn't yet know nothing had come from him. Despite the situation, despite his own jealousy and longing, and despite the many years of camaraderie between Bofur and himself in Ered Luin and out on the road, Thorin was suddenly angry that the other dwarrow hadn't written. Bilbo deserved better than that. He deserved to know, for certain, what Bofur's intentions were. He deserved to be treated with care and respect, not complete silence and shameless neglect.

"Of course," Thorin said firmly. "Take all the time you need."

The gratitude in Bilbo's eyes twisted in the dwarf king's gut like a knife, but it was short-lived. Bilbo immediately turned on his heel without another word and went towards the fireplace. He watched as the Hobbit didn't even sit, placing the letters on the table, then opening them one by one.

His back was to them, but Thorin's heart broke a little at the tense line of his small shoulders, and how quickly he ripped into the letters, obviously not reading them fully, just scanning through. John and the three dwarrow sat down at the table, all watching quietly, all concerned for the Hobbit as he finished and placed the three letters down very carefully on the small table before him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and his breathing was slightly irregular as he stared down at the correspondence in silence.

"Nothing," he whispered at last, apparently to himself. "Not a word."

Thorin tried not to flinch at the obvious pain Bilbo was in. Part of him knew he should be pleased, knew this was something in his favour, but how could he be happy when Bilbo was hurting so? He watched as Bilbo sharply smacked his hand down on the tabletop.

"Mister Bilbo?" John questioned, clearly concerned to see the usually placid, cheerful Hobbit losing his grip on his temper. "You alright?"

Bilbo froze then, and apparently tried to rein in his emotions, if his deep, unsteady inhale was anything to go by. He didn't look back at any of them, spinning to walk across the tap room to the front door.

"Excuse me, won't you," he said tightly. "I'm going for a smoke."

He threw open the door without waiting for a reply, without even a coat to keep him warm out in the cold of midwinter, then slammed the door behind himself so hard that the small windows rattled in their frames. Thorin had seen Bilbo in a bad mood before. He had seen him grumpy, cross, and fed up, and often, too. This was different, though. This was true fury, and as much as he wished he could be the one to sooth it away, it was a line he was unwilling to cross. Bilbo had to figure this out by himself, so that he could see things for himself clearly and make his choices without manipulation.

"Huh," said Dwalin quietly from beside him. "Maybe you're not reading too much into it, after all."

The concession did not bring Thorin comfort.

"Bad news?" John asked, clearly concerned.

"Sort of," Nori answered. "He's not said as much, but we guessed he was expecting a letter. Looks like it hasn't come."

Vaguely Thorin wondered how much Nori knew, and what his sources of information on this particular topic were. Had it come from Dwalin? From his own observations, perhaps? Thorin knew the middle Ri brother had a talent for listening, and going unnoticed. It was also possible he'd had it from Ori, who Bilbo may have confided in, or even Bilbo himself. Not that he would ask, of course. He didn't think Nori would betray a confidence, not even to his king, but Thorin knew he would rather Bilbo spoke to him directly, if it came to it. He wouldn't invade his privacy, no matter how tempting it was.

"Poor Mister Bilbo," John murmured, looking over to the closed door. "Should he be out there by himself? Mayhap he'd like someone to talk to?"

"It can't be me," Thorin replied. He was relieved when no one questioned his decision, even John giving him a little, understanding nod.

"Nor me," said Dwalin. "I like the lad, both of 'em in truth, but I don't think I could be impartial just now, and not just because I've got my money on another suitor," his cousin winked at him, then sighed. "Downright wrong, it is, to leave someone hanging like that."

"Is it?" Nori snapped back, a little viciously. "You don't think someone should take their time making a decision this important?"

There was a heavy pause, before Dwalin growled low. "You know damn well that's not what I meant..."

"Tell you what, gents," John intervened with all the smoothness of someone who had talked down many a bar fight over the years. "Why don't I go check on him? It's mighty cold, I can take out that little cloak he borrows sometimes to keep the wind off him. Last thing we want is poor Mister Baggins to fall sick."

Nori and Dwalin both looked suitably ashamed of themselves, and Thorin stood from the table, offering a short, respectful bow to the landlord. "Thank you, Master John."

"No trouble, Mister Thorin. Help yourselves to an ale from behind the bar, if you like. I 'spect Mister Bilbo would quite like a drink when he comes back in, too."

Thorin smiled a little and nodded his thanks, even as the man picked up a cloak for himself from where it hung on the door, then a smaller one from beside it before heading outside in search of their Hobbit. He then turned his attention to the two dwarrow beside him, only to see Nori immediately walking quickly towards the bar, Dwalin hard on his heels. Deciding to ignore them and let the pair sort out this latest little kink in their relationship, Thorin picked up his own letters and headed over to the fireplace.

There were two armchairs arranged there, both quite beaten and worn, but the large, roaring fire reminded him of something akin to home. The stonemason had obviously been a dwarf, and he couldn't help but admire the work. Taking up the seat beside the one he knew Bilbo often favoured, (partly as an open invite for the Hobbit to join him when he returned, if he chose, and partly because it afforded him a direct view of the front door) he settled down, ignoring the hissed argument currently happening on the other side of the tap room, and read through his letters.

He had four; one from the boys, one from Balin, one from Dain, and one from Gloin. Starting with Dain, he worked his way through his cousin's vile handwriting and was pleased to hear his Company had been given full and unreserved welcome to the Iron Hills. He hadn't expected anything less, Dain was a good dwarf, but it set his mind at rest. He moved then onto the boys, who had written something short and ridiculous, clearly fighting for the quill as they'd tried to compose something for their uncle. It made him smile to think of them thus, though he would write back more firmly to encourage them to acquit themselves as proper princes ought.

He was about to open the letter from Balin, when the door opened. Bilbo was smiling again, and Thorin felt his heart lighten considerably, until he saw that he was followed in by not only John, but also one of the guards from the entrance to the town on their first day. He scowled immediately.

"Look who we found!" Bilbo laughed, removing his cloak and shaking the snow from it carefully. "You all remember Cedric?"

Thorin couldn't see the bar from where he sat, but the following silence told him everything he needed to know. He was clearly not the only one displeased by this uninvited guest. What did please him, however, was the way the guard shifted uncomfortably under Thorin's glare, before Bilbo caught his eye and frowned.

"Maybe this is a bad idea..." the guard spoke in a low voice, clearly underestimating the sharpness of dwarven hearing.

"Nonsense," Bilbo smiled kindly and patted the man on his arm, causing a fresh surge of annoyance to rise in Thorin's chest. "Don't mind them. They were the same with me too, at first. Bit skittish, dwarves, you know."

Thorin stamped down his amusement at this statement, knowing full well that Bilbo was deliberately teasing, if only from the way his eyes flicked back to him for the briefest of moments as he spoke. Skittish, indeed.

"Really?" said the guard, open surprise plastered across his pock-marked face. "You'd not think to look't 'em."

"They hide it well," Bilbo grinned, then leaned forward conspiratorially, speaking in a loud stage-whisper. "Bit like horses. Just approach them slowly, keep your hands where they can see them, and speak in a soothing tone. You can sometimes tempt them with food, but be careful, because they can smell fear."

Thorin had to lower his gaze and rub his hand over his mouth to hide the smirk this time. Then he heard Bilbo's warm, buttery laugh dance about the room, and knew it was a lost cause.

"You're having me on, Mister Baggins!" the guard laughed too, though quite nervously. "Ain't you?"

"I'm sorry Cedric, I couldn't help myself," the Hobbit chuckled, clearly ticked by his own little joke. "But do call me Bilbo, won't you? We're about to have Yuletide together, after all!"

Thorin took a deep, slow breath at this bit of news, but said nothing. He pretended to read the letter from Balin, for all he wasn't concentrating on it in the slightest.

"Alright Mister Bilbo," said the guard, missing the point of the request entirely.

Thorin heard Bilbo sigh quietly in defeat, then John cut in. "Come along then, Ced. Let's get you a drink, then I'll show you the fine beast Mister Dwalin shot down for our dinner! Got him roasting away back here, and he could likely do with a baste by now."

Thorin didn't look up as the two men made their way to the bar. He was far too interested in the light patter of bare footsteps headed in his direction. When Bilbo stopped, standing at the arm of his chair almost hesitantly, he kept his expression carefully neutral.

"Skittish, Master Baggins?" he commented dryly. "I seem to recall you were the one who could barely speak for stuttering when first we met."

"Doesn't sound like me," Bilbo quipped. "Must be your memory failing you in your old age."

Thorin barked a surprised laugh at this, looking up to see a pleased smile on the face of his beloved, and being so captivated that he immediately forgot his annoyance about the guard. He reached out to take Bilbo's hand before he even realised what he was doing, and felt his heart speed up as that pleasant flush dusted his cheeks just so.

"Sorry about my tantrum," Bilbo mumbled, nodding over to his abandoned letters on the small side table. "Shouldn't have let it get the better of me like that, really."

"You have naught to apologise for," Thorin reassured him gently. He was pleased Bilbo had chosen to come to him and speak freely of this, it showed a closeness between them that Thorin sometimes wondered if he imagined. It was the sort of comfort he wished he could have offered in Mirkwood. "I'm sorry you have been disappointed. You deserve to be treated far better than this. I... I hope you know that I would not treat you so."

This last was a gamble, a test of sorts, not unlike the morning with the window when he had heard Bilbo wake, then turn in his bed to watch as Thorin tended his hair. Thorin couldn't be sure of Bilbo's physical preferences in a partner, of course, but while Bofur was strong, Thorin knew his own sturdy build was often admired by others. It hadn't hurt to try, just to see if it was an admiration the Hobbit shared. If the long moments he had spent watching Thorin, followed by the sudden and quick roll-over in his bed was anything to go by, his chances were promising.

Luckily, this seemed to have worked in his favour, too. Bilbo's expression softened into a warm fondness that almost caught Thorin's breath in his throat. The Hobbit placed his other small hand over Thorin's much larger one, still cold from being outside. The temptation to lift it to his lips and brush a small, courtly kiss there was almost overwhelming.

"I know that, Thorin," Bilbo said softly, then sighed and looked down at their joined hands. "I always knew he was a bit... flighty, I suppose. All those years of travelling about would take a toll on anybody! I just thought he'd give me some sort of... Oh, I don't know. I don't know what I expected."

Thorin wanted to object, to point out he had travelled just as much as Bofur, and that this was no reason or excuse for the way he was behaving. Still, he knew it didn't matter one way or the other in the long run. Thorin would succeed in taking back Erebor, and he would be King Under the Mountain, sturdy and constant as the rock of his home. He knew full well that stability was something Bilbo would need in a partner, and he could offer him that.

"I'll just have to write him myself," Bilbo said with a firm nod. "Oh, I'm going to give him such a dressing down, let me tell you! To just up and leave without a word like that, then not even bother to send a missive of some kind? No. I shan't stand for it."

"Good for you, lad," said Dwalin, suddenly standing on Thorin's other side and placing two ales for them down on the table, keeping a third for himself. "And if you want me to kick his arse for you, just say the word."

Bilbo laughed merrily at that. "I don't know if you'd want to get yourself involved, Dwalin. Seems a lot of trouble to go to for a member of the gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves."

Thorin recognised the words as something similar to Dwalin's own comments when Gandalf had first suggested Bilbo join their quest as the Company burglar. It seemed Dwalin did too as he grinned and clapped the Hobbit on the back.

"I'd take up arms for you with nary a second thought, laddie, and don't you forget it," his cousin said with blunt honesty that might have been touching had the force of his affectionate gesture not threatened to knock Bilbo over. Thorin grasped his hands a little tighter to help steady him, and he saw the moment Dwalin noticed their casual intimacy, a smug look on his face. "But maybe you ought fight in his name this time, eh Thorin?"

"Oh, come now..." Bilbo began to protest, clearly thinking this a ridiculous idea. Thorin squeezed his hand briefly to silence him, looking into his eyes with utmost sincerity. If Bilbo were to consent to a duel of honour to win his heart, it would be fitting, and even welcomed compared to the current situation.

"The strength of my arm is at your disposal, Master Baggins."

If Bilbo had been flushed before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. Thorin wanted so much to tug him closer, to slide his fingers into that curly hair and whisper words of love and devotion against his lips. He wanted to open his heart and soul, to beg Bilbo to forget about Bofur, to not bother writing back, to allow Thorin the place the other dwarf had abandoned so easily.

But he couldn't. Not yet. Bilbo needed time, needed to realise that whatever lay between him and Bofur was shallow and meaningless. He needed to see Thorin as the worthier partner, and the dwarf king knew he had a lot of lost ground to make up before that could happen.

"So...." Nori cleared his throat, apparently popping out of nowhere to stand beside Dwalin. "Is anyone going to ask what that guard is doing here, or are we just going along with this?"

Bilbo cleared his throat, and tugged his hand from Thorin's hold. "I know it's a little awkward, but he was all alone. He lost his mother in the spring, and this is his first Yuletide without anyone to celebrate with."

"So?" Dwalin asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bilbo, for all he was tiny and nowhere near a match in any way for the burly dwarf, also crossed his arms and lifted his chin defiantly. "So he was going to come here for company and a few drinks, but the bar is closed because of us, and I've had plenty of Yuletides by myself, and this year it's been nice to have people to celebrate with, and I didn't want to leave the poor boy by himself when he could very easily join us!"

All of Bilbo's excitement for today suddenly made much more sense. He remembered Bag End, as comfortable and spacious as it was, and how very, very empty. Bilbo had even admitted that, despite an abundance of cousins, aunts, and uncles, and being quite respectable and active within the community, he was something of a recluse, and often considered a bit boring. The very idea had left Thorin deeply confused, and Bilbo Baggins was one of the most interesting beings he had ever met.

Thorin glanced at Dwalin and Nori, both of which still looked disapproving, though unwilling to argue further. He sighed, folding up Balin's letter at last and tucking it into his tunic pocket.

"It would seem, Nori, that we are just going along with this."

"Really?" Bilbo and Nori both said together, equally surprised, even as Dwalin rolled his eyes.

"Apparently so," Thorin tried not to smile. "Though he had best keep his hands where we can see them."

Bilbo always appreciated a call-back, and Thorin was rewarded with another peal of laughter from the Hobbit. He picked up the smaller, half-pint of ale from the table beside him and handed it to Bilbo, who took it gladly, before retrieving his own full pint. He looked at Nori and Dwalin, both clearly still sceptical of this turn of events, and he couldn't blame them. He did not want the man here, himself.

"I should like to make our first toast of the day," Thorin raised his tankard and stood from the armchair. "Here's to the generosity and kindness of Master Bilbo Baggins, without which, none of us would be here today."

It was brief, not even half of what he wanted to say, but the other two dwarrow seemed to relent in their reservations, ceding Thorin's point. They all drank, save for Bilbo, who looked faintly embarrassed, and like he might argue even this most meagre of praise.

"It is rude not to drink a toast to your honour," Thorin told him lightly, and smiled as the fastidious Master Baggins of Bag End gave in to his Hobbitish nature in the name of good manners, and swallowed both his protests and the ale.

While the men were occupied in the kitchen, Nori proposed they exchange gifts. They all went back to the table that had been dressed for their meal, Thorin and Bilbo sharing a bench beside one another, and as it was his idea, it was decided that Nori open his first. The gift had been a joint effort, a small penknife that might be used for whittling, or perhaps prying open a window should the need arise. Thorin had forged the blade, Bilbo had sewn the little case, and Dwalin had designed and carved the handle. It was polished to a shine, and detailed with a short Khuzdul blessing for safety, etched in and chosen by Dwalin himself. Nori had handled it with care, and thanked them all quietly, before tucking it away into one of his many pockets.

Next came Dwalin's gift, which was, rather interestingly, the work of only Nori's hand. He had knitted his suitor a fine, warm muffler, gloves, and hat, and under any other circumstances, such a thing might be seen as quite romantic. Indeed, Dwalin had looked slightly at a loss for how he ought to receive said gift, made entirely for him by the hand of his beloved, until Nori grinned and plopped the hat upon his head and made a joke about his lack of hair. Dwalin had taken it in good spirits, but for the sake of his cousin and shield-brother, he hoped the pair would sort things out between them soon.

"Your turn, Thorin!" Bilbo smiled, handing him a little parcel done up in plain, brown paper.

He opened the soft little package up with care, and was both touched and amused to find a pair of thick, leather smith's gloves. Immediately his gaze turned to Bilbo, who looked a little worried, before he inspected the work with care and awe. They were beautifully made. Lined with a soft sort of fleece, something he had not had the comfort of in many a year. The stitching was tight and neat, and he found that, along with the neat edging embroidered at the seams to keep the leather from scratching at his skin, there was also a detailed little sigil on each cuff. An oak leaf, with the seven stars of Durin beneath it. He ran the pad of his thumb over the workmanship reverently.

"Are they suitable?" Bilbo asked, still looking worried. "We used Dwalin's hand as a measure, and Nori is so clever at patterns, but..."

Thorin immediately took the gloves and slid them on, flexing his fingers a bit before he smiled back at the Hobbit. "They're beautiful, Bilbo. Thank you."

Bilbo flushed with pleasure at this and mumbled. "Well, they're from all of us."

Thorin didn't doubt that, but he could see the majority of the gloves had been made painstakingly by Bilbo, especially if the subtle little wink Nori offered him was anything to go by. He knew that even if he should miraculously become King Under the Mountain tomorrow, he would still use these gloves to forge with for perhaps the rest of his days, or until they fell apart from overuse. That said, he made sure to thank both Dwalin and Nori too, if only to help alleviate his burglar's clear embarrassment, for all the other two dwarrow only looked on in amusement.

At last it was Bilbo's turn to receive his Yuletide gift from the rest of them, and it was now Thorin who watched nervously as those delicate fingers unwrapped the parcel he was given. When the paper fell away to reveal the gift, completely designed and made by Thorin, he had to remind himself that this was simply a Yuletide gift, not a courting gift, and Bilbo had no reason not to accept it.

As it was, he need not have worried, for the Hobbit's eyes lit up with wonder as he turned the gift over in his hands.

"Whatever is it?" he asked, a little breathlessly.

"It's a pen," Thorin supplied, trying not to fidget as his work was scrutinised. "It's like a quill, but made of steel, so you do not have to replace it."

Usually they were made with wood, with only the nib that was dipped into the inkwell made from steel, but Thorin had forged the whole thing from one of the slim daggers he had managed to keep about his person when they first entered Lake Town. At first he had considered simply giving Bilbo the blade, in a bid to give him some way to defend himself, but after watching the Hobbit bring home a little work with him, sitting of an evening trimming quills for use in the Town Hall, it had occurred to him that this might be more appreciated.

He had made it slim and slight, and he was pleased when Bilbo held it comfortably in his small hand to test the weight and fit of it, still looking incredibly amazed by the creation. He had kept the decoration simple and clean, despite his desire to do more, again knowing Bilbo held an appreciation for clean lines and clever design above all, but he had etched his own maker's mark into the handle, as well as Bilbo's own name in westron.

There was a feral, possessive delight now in thinking that if Bilbo must write to Bofur, he might now do so with a pen crafted by Thorin's own hand.

"I've never seen anything like it," Bilbo whispered, turning admiring eyes up at him, and causing his heart to swell in his chest. "It's wonderful. Thank you, I shall treasure it always."

Before Thorin could make a fool of himself, to lower his head and press a kiss to that far too inviting mouth, the Hobbit turned to the other two and thanked them as well. He was gratified when neither of them corrected his assumption that they had anything to do with the gift in the slightest, and was glad when Bilbo rose to go to the kitchen with Nori to check on both the men, and the meal.

When the boar was cooked, the six of them ate well and drank even more. It was a merry affair, and it turned out that the young guard, Cedric, was not so bad when he was off duty, and actually seemed to hit it off with Dwalin as they swapped stories and discussed their favourite weapons. As the evening progressed, and more ale was consumed, Thorin watched with amusement as Dwalin and the guard decided an arm wrestle had to occur. With John and Nori acting as referees, the four got up and moved to a clear table in the tap room so as not to knock over any plates or drinks.

Thorin might have got up to watch, but Bilbo seemed to have dropped off to sleep as the evening had worn on, his head pillowed against the dwarf king's shoulder. There was nothing in the world that could make him want to move away or disturb Bilbo's rest in that moment, and instead he reached into the breast pocket of his undershirt and pulled out the little copper coin the Hobbit had given him only a week ago.

He kept it close over his heart ever since, occasionally taking it out to look at and hold, to remember the sincerity and soft warmth in Bilbo's face as he had handed over this little piece of his history to Thorin for safekeeping. A token of his goodwill that, in any other situation, might have been taken as an initiation of formal courtship. But, alas, Bilbo had stipulated it was a loan only, and Thorin had accepted that. Still, he cherished it just the same, more than he had ever expected to of a single, copper coin.

He gripped the cool metal disc in his palm, then turned his head slightly into Bilbo's curls. Inhaling deeply, his heart sped up as his lips brushed the top of his head, and the scent of pipeweed, salt, and something inherently earthy filled his senses. Perhaps one day he might have something even more valuable; the heart of this small, unassuming creature, who had sworn himself and his honour to Thorin so readily.

Perhaps one day it would be more than a loan, but his to keep forever.

Chap 12

Bilbo was sitting in the tap room, in their usual corner table, tucked away from all the men drinking, laughing, and even singing. Usually he would be out and chatting to people, building friendships, or even sitting at the bar while Nori worked, but he was currently writing letters.

He had felt terribly ungrateful after his reaction to not hearing from Gandalf, especially after he sat and read the three letters he'd received and felt an odd sort of wistfulness for the rest of the Company. It wasn't odd that he missed them, because of course he did; they were his friends, after all! No, what was odd, was how much it felt like homesickness. It felt like the way he had pined for Bag End and the peaceful Shire for the first few months of the quest, and it wasn't until he had recognised it as such that Bilbo realised he hadn't felt it really since back then. And now? Now he was feeling it for the little band of dwarrow who had come to mean so much to him this year.

So, he had read the letters, got a little misty-eyed over them, and having some time to himself this weekend, sat down to write back. He had written to Fili and Kili first, thanking them for the very amusing story about Oin, Kili, and the war pig - though he had no idea what a war pig actually was, and requested some little clarification in their next missive. Next he had gently tried to dissuade them from attempting a prank they had hinted at, regarding Lord Dain's chief advisor (who had apparently argued against the Company being granted safe haven) and reminded them they were there as Thorin's representatives. He'd also praised them for remembering to write to their mother in Ered Luin, and conceded that while a potato was technically a vegetable, that wasn't quite what he had meant.

He had then written back to Balin, updated him on some of the small incidents and anecdotes here in Lake Town, and thanked him for the short updates on the rest of the Company. Bilbo felt only slightly guilty in warning Balin about the possibility of a prank being played by the two princes, just so he might be able to avert disaster before anything came of it. He hadn't mentioned it to Thorin, sure as he was that Balin would be able to handle things much more delicately if left to his own devices.

Next had been Ori, who had plied him with gratuitous descriptions of the Iron Hills, and all the comings and goings of life around him. Bilbo had asked him follow up questions to his observations, then returned his own flowery prose to tell him in turn about their lives in Lake Town. He'd also given a quick update on his brother, just to reassure the young dwarf (and in turn Dori) to say how well Nori was doing, and how well thought of he was by the patrons of The Pike.

After that, he had decided to write a short little letter to Bofur, just to check in with his friend, and enclosed a recipe for Bombur for his signature lemon souffle, now that the dwarf would have the means and ingredients to try it out.

At last, he had written to Gandalf. For days he'd been reeling through all he wanted to say, all his angry thoughts and how he might phrase his deep displeasure at how things had been left. However, when he had sat to write it all, he found he didn't have the energy for all that and had decided to keep it fairly simple:

Gandalf,

Did not appreciate the manner of your departure in the slightest.

Perhaps you consider it beneath your dignity, but if you would please deign to explain precisely what it is you expect from me here in Lake Town, as well as the incidentals of my employment with the Master, that would be splendid.

Regards,

Bilbo Baggins

He then folded it and sealed it with wax before he thought too hard about his decision, writing Gandalf's name on the front and admiring the beautiful way his new pen worked. He was almost sad to not have more letters to write, as the gorgeous flow of the ink and the comfortable weight of it in his hand had been truly a delight. It was such a clever thing, and a thoughtful gift that had touched him deeply. In truth, he had half expected a weapon of some kind, as he knew the three dwarrow worried about him going about unarmed as he was. It had been such a surprise to be gifted not only something so truly wonderful, but also something that showed they had put a great deal of thought into what he would enjoy.

Bilbo sighed happily as he admired the pen once more, before cleaning the nib and placing it down on the table. He didn't think he had ever received such a thoughtful gift, and certainly not since his parents had passed. It had touched him deeply, and this Yule had been a bright point that he would likely carry with him for the rest of his days.

"Well well, if it isn't Mister Baggins!"

Bilbo glanced up and was surprised to find Bert, the other guard from the entrance to Lake Town, standing before his table with an amused look on his face.

"Ced's at the bar," the man continued as Bilbo stared up at him in surprise. "Can we get you anything?"

"Oh! Goodness, Mister Bert, isn't it?" Bilbo stood and held out his hand to shake automatically. Bert looked surprised, but took the much smaller hand and shook it once, causing Bilbo to smile as he sat back down and motioned to the mulled cider he had been working through whilst writing. "Very kind of you, I'm sure, but I'm all set for a drink just now. Won't you join me?"

"Just Bert," said the guard, grinning as he plonked himself down in the chair opposite.

"Then it's just Bilbo," he replied easily.

"I think it has to be Mister Bilbo at least," Bert shrugged. "What with you working up at the Town Hall and all that."

Truthfully, Bilbo had never tried so hard to get people to use his first name alone since he had come to Lake Town. He would never have invited a near stranger to call him Bilbo without a prefix back in the Shire, but lately all the formality seemed to be grating on him. He had no idea why, but his heart sank a bit at being refused once again.

"Oh, I'm just a lowly scribe," he brushed aside the reasoning easily . "But of course, you must act as you feel is correct. The invitation is there, though, should you change your mind."

Bert regarded him for a long moment, still looking vaguely amused. Then he leaned back in the chair and grinned.

"All alone today, Mister Bilbo?" Bert asked, something peculiar in his tone as he seemed to be sizing up the hobbit in front of him. "Odd to see you without your bodyguards lurking about."

"My what, sorry?" Bilbo frowned.

"Your dwarves," the man clarified, and Bilbo blinked in surprise.

"My friends, you mean?" he corrected, keeping his voice carefully polite. "Well, Thorin is at work today, Dwalin has popped out on some sort of errand for John, and Nori is just over there, behind the bar."

Bilbo raised his hand and waved at Nori, who was speaking with Cedric as he poured him two ales. The dwarf raised his hand in greeting, and Ced turned and did the same, a big smile lighting up his face as he saw Bilbo.

"If you say so, Mister Bilbo," Bert replied, still watching him carefully. "Strange folk, dwarves."

Bilbo found it difficult not to bristle at this. "Lots of strange folk in the world, Bert. I've met all sorts these last few months, as it happens. Dwarves, certainly, but also men, elves, trolls, orcs, wizards, and a shapeshifter. Even one very strange hobbit, as it happens."

He was, of course, speaking of himself for that last part, but Bert wasn't to know. He wouldn't dare to slander another hobbit in such a fashion, not even half a world away from the Shire, for none had earned the designation quite so much as he had, he was sure.

"True," agreed Bert amiably. "Meet all sorts as a guard too, you know. Never would have guessed that old fella with you was a wizard, that's for sure. Just though he was some old beggar you'd picked up and felt sorry for."

Bilbo tried not to find this amusing, but he didn't quite succeed in hiding the quirk of his mouth as a smile threatened. He almost advised Bert that it had rather been the other way around, but he wasn't sure he wanted to start a conversation about how they had all happened upon one another, as it would likely lead to awkward questions about what they were doing. Instead, he took a drink of his mulled cider to gather himself a bit.

"Still, I stand by what I said; dwarves are a strange folk," Bert pressed, and Bilbo rather had to give in. It seemed the guardsman had something he wanted to say and he wouldn't be deterred. "No women, I hear."

"Well of course they have women," Bilbo corrected a little exasperatedly, thinking of Bombur and Gloin and their wives, as well as Thorin's sister, Dis. "How would you propose baby dwarves are made otherwise?"

It occurred to Bilbo too late that perhaps he shouldn't be saying this. The dwarves were secretive about their people and culture, and they might not thank him for speaking so freely about them. Especially not to a man who had outrightly spoken with clear disdain of them.

"Dunno," Bert shrugged, still watching him closely. The scrutiny was starting to make Bilbo a bit uncomfortable now. "I heard the males bed down with one another though. Why else would they do that if there was women amongst them?"

It was no longer just the scrutiny making Bilbo uncomfortable, suddenly. Only years of tea with nosy relatives kept the hobbit from showing how taken aback he was by the sudden shift in conversation, and he again picked up his mulled cider.

"I'm sure I have no idea," he responded noncommittally, before taking a sip, then looking back at the man with bland disinterest. "I tend not to ask my friends the ins and outs of their sexual preferences, at least not without invitation. Quite rude, you understand."

"I hear you all share a room," Bert pressed, apparently oblivious to Bilbo's faint reprimand.

"We do," Bilbo replied immediately, because it would be foolish to try and deny such a thing. "It's cheaper that way."

The guard seemed to be trying to discern the truth of his words, and Bilbo was reminded all too forcibly of the knowledge that some societies would punish these basic, personal preferences. In the Shire it was looked down upon, which was why there was such a rich tradition of respectable spinsters and confirmed bachelors, much like himself. Still, he had read that imprisonment, beatings, and even death were often employed elsewhere, and it occurred to him that most of those instances had taken place in the settlements of men.

"Just you be careful, Mister Bilbo," Bert leaned forward suddenly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "You seem a good sort, but you're only little, and I've seen the way that big one looks at you. Following you around, finding reasons to touch you. Not normal, that."

"Thorin?" Bilbo blinked in surprise, then snorted a laugh. The very idea!

Bert seemed surprised by Bilbo's laughter at this suggestion, but some of the suspicion seemed to go out of him. The hobbit seized on that, and let himself chuckle a little more, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head.

In truth, he had been wondering since their conversation on the bridge if perhaps his attraction for the dwarf king might not be as one-sided as he'd initially believed. He hadn't indulged in the idea much, for fear of making a fool of himself and giving into the ever-increasing pull he felt towards Thorin. Still, the idea had planted itself in his fertile imagination, and he was keeping an eye on it. So far it seemed that while Thorin was increasingly affectionate and attentive towards him, there was nothing that made Bilbo suppose it was more than him having no one else to fuss over, as he had first assumed when they arrived in Lake Town.

He had confessed to Bilbo on the bridge that he was used to being a provider and protector, and that adjusting to life here had been a blow to his pride. The hobbit supposed it made sense that without his nephews and the rest of the Company to look after, he had latched onto Bilbo instead. Nori was incredibly self-sufficient, that much had been evident to Bilbo from the get-go, and Dwalin was likely to punch anyone who might imply he needed to be taken care of, in any manner whatsoever.

That only left the poor, defenceless hobbit, and frankly Bilbo didn't mind it at all. Just to make Thorin feel better, of course. Not because he liked having the dwarf close, feeling that large, warm hand pressed between his shoulders whenever they walked together, or being made to feel like he was somehow cherished or significant in some way. Of course not.

"Barking up the wrong tree there, my lad," Bilbo replied at last, winking at the bemused guardsman. "Thorin is just worried I'll fall off the boardwalk and drown. Not much of a swimmer, you see, and he frets."

Bert looked at him a little blankly. "He frets?"

"Oh goodness, yes," Bilbo laughed again, glad for a shift in conversation and having some control over the direction once again. "Like a mother hen, clucking over everyone and everything any chance he gets. The others talk about what a great warrior he is, and he is, for I've seen his skill in battle myself, but he's a far greater worrier, when all is said and done!"

For a moment Bert looked like he wanted to say something, but was interrupted by young Cedric finally making his way over, raising two tankards of ale in greeting.

"Mister Bilbo!" he called merrily. "And Mister Dwalin! Glad t'see you both!"

Both Bilbo and Bert looked around in surprise, and saw Dwalin sitting quite comfortably at the table beside theirs. He raised his hand in greeting to Cedric, then nodded to Bilbo, face just as serious as always, though a twinkle of mischief that anyone who didn't know him would easily miss. It was all Bilbo could do not to laugh and hide his face in his hands, mortified in the knowledge that he had clearly been there a little while, and heard him call Thorin a mother hen.

"And just how long have you been there?" Bilbo asked in mock-annoyance.

The tiniest snort escaped the large dwarf before he answered. "Just before the discussion about where bairns come from. Honestly lad, I'd have thought a learned scholar such as yourself would know somethin' about that by now."

"Never said I didn't," Bilbo shot back as Cedric sat beside Bert, and the two men watched the exchange with an air of confusion. "Obviously dwarf babies are mined out of the rock of your mountains."

That air of amusement was easier to spot now, as Dwalin was clearly fighting the urge to laugh. "Aye, just as hobbit babes are dug out of your cabbage fields."

"Don't be silly," Bilbo scoffed. "Everyone knows that male hobbits lay eggs, which their spouses then pick up and carry about in their pockets to keep warm until they hatch."

"The males?" gasped Bert in shock.

"Do they for real, Mister Bilbo?" Ced cried at the same time, eyes wide.

There was a moment of silence as Bilbo and Dwalin stared each other out, neither wanting to break first, before they both guffawed in unison. Bilbo tipped forward, unable to hold in his laughter, even as Dwalin belted out his own deep hilarity, and clapped the hobbit on the back (albeit fairly gently) as they both fell about.

"Mister Bilbo!" Ced laughed too, realising their joke. "You was having me on again!"

This only sent Bilbo into fresh peals of laughter, wiping tears from his eyes as he tried valiantly to get himself back under control. He gasped a little as he replied, "I'm so sorry, it was too funny not to tease you. You should have seen your faces!"

Everyone was laughing now, save for Bert, who was watching Bilbo warily. "So... your men don't lay eggs?"

Once again, it was his Baggins family courtesy that kept Bilbo from rolling his eyes at the guard, but it was his inner Took that spoke.

"Of course not," Bilbo stood, picking up his little pile of letters from the table and shuffling them together neatly. "Our children are grown in cabbage patches, as my good friend here first said. Good day, gentlemen."

He dropped a short bow, and smirked at the wide eyes of the two men, sparing Cedric a small, conspiratorial wink as he picked up his coat and satchel. He moved to leave and call over his shoulder to let Dwalin know he was headed to the courier's office, only to see the dwarf already on his feet and following along.

"I've got letters to post too, lad," he told him, waving to get Nori's attention at the bar and gesturing to the door as an apparent indication that they were leaving. Nori nodded and lifted his hand in a quick salute, before turning back to the patron he was currently serving drinks to. "Got one for Nori and a few for Thorin as well. Might as well see 'em all off together."

Bilbo slid his coat on and fastened it, watching Dwalin a little suspiciously. The dwarf was hard to read at the best of times, his expression serious and blank by default more often than not. Still, Bilbo was starting to get quite good at noticing that little spark of dry humour, and Dwalin seemed to find this amusing in and of itself.

He opened the door out of The Pike with a flourish and a wink. "Also might have something to do with Thorin fretting over you falling in the lake."

"For goodness sake," Bilbo muttered, flinching from the biting wind as he stepped outside and shoving his letters safely into his satchel. "Fine, I'll not argue, but only if you swear you won't tell him I called him a mother hen."

"Oh aye?" Dwalin smirked, not at all fazed by the cold, apparently. "Think that'd piss him off, do you?"

Bilbo snorted and they began to walk in the direction of the courier's office. "I think Thorin's pride is an incredibly volatile beast, and he and I are friends just now. I should like to keep it that way."

He didn't add that Dwalin had been in the wrong for eavesdropping, which was quite rude in the first place, as he knew full well the dwarf wouldn't care one way or the other.

"You're a funny wee thing, Bilbo Baggins," Dwalin gave him a quizzical look. "Sharp as a blade in a lot of ways, but thick as shit in others."

"Now just see here, you-!" Bilbo caught himself, realising he had been about to cuss, biting it back at the last second and glaring at Dwalin's surprised, but clearly delighted face as he too realised what the hobbit had been about to say.

"What's that, Master Baggins?" Dwalin practically crowed. "Sounded like you were about to say something vulgar!"

Bilbo tried not to laugh and shoved at the dwarf, despite, much like with Thorin, having no hope at all of budging him. "Blasted dwarves... I've been spending too much time with you bunch of reprobates, clearly!"

"Ha!" Dwalin barked, patting him firmly on the shoulder. "One of us now, laddie, or as good as. Might as well accept it!"

"Well, that's just... That's actually lovely," Bilbo couldn't help but feel deeply touched to be so claimed, especially by Dwalin, who, along with Thorin and Gloin, had been the slowest to trust him at first.

"Mahal, don't cry about it," Dwalin looked vaguely uncomfortable.

Bilbo cleared his throat and spoke airily, trying to put him back at ease. "Thorin doesn't use coarse language. Neither does Balin, for that matter."

"Don't talk wet," Dwalin scoffed. "O'course they both cuss. They just do it in khuzdul like proper, well-bred dwarrow."

"Balin's your brother!" Bilbo reminded him with a laugh.

Dwalin smirked and shrugged. "Aye, and he's a politician. I'm a soldier, so no one pays too much mind to my coarse language, and that suits me just fine."

Bilbo desperately wanted to ask more about that, about hierarchy in dwarven society, about how professions were chosen, or expectations placed on siblings. Had Dwalin chosen to be a soldier, while Balin had decided to become an advisor to the crown, or were these roles imposed upon them by expectation, age, and lineage? Would it have been different if one or both of them had been female? Did it matter that neither of them had children, or were married? If Thorin should abdicate, could his sister, Dis, potentially take up the mantle of Queen Under The Mountain? Or would she still be styled as King Under The Mountain, since dwarves seemed to care little about gender? Who decided that Fili and Kili were Thorin's heirs? Had Thorin himself chosen them, or were they simply the closest in line to the throne? Was Fili the crown prince because he was the oldest, or was there some other deciding factor? Did Gloin's own son, Gimli, have any claim to the throne of Erebor? Did Gloin? Or Balin, even?

He didn't ask any of these questions, however, no matter how badly he wanted to. The first reason being because he knew the dwarrow were secretive about such things. While he was relieved that Dwalin didn't seem to have taken issue with any of his observations to Bert in The Pike, he didn't suppose he would be all too pleased to be peppered with questions by an overly-curious hobbit. Not even one he had claimed to be 'one of them' only moments before.

The second, more pressing reason, was that they had reached the courier's office, a fact that Bilbo's cold nose and ears were incredibly grateful for.

The pair of them shuffled inside, and Dwalin held out his hand for Bilbo to give him his letters. It took longer than it should have done, due to the hobbit struggling to get his chilled fingers to work properly, but he finally unbuckled his satchel and gave the dwarf his post. He very nearly protested as Dwalin flicked through the neatly sealed envelopes, scanning the names and pausing to do a double take at one -quite probably Gandalf's, if Bilbo was any judge- but it was over in a flash, and he went to the counter briskly, adding Bilbo's letters to another small collection he pulled from inside his jerkin.

Bilbo stood off to one side as Dwalin spoke with the clerk and gave instructions on the delivery. The large dwarf made an attempt at small talk, which was met with a low level of suspicion, but Bilbo was pleased he had at least tried. Reputation was everything in a close-knit community, and if Dwalin was going to find work besides a few odd jobs and errands that John paid him for as often as he was able, then trying to be friendly with the locals was a good way to put them at ease and build some trust.

In truth, Bilbo felt less inclined to judge his friends on their surliness, given what he himself had now seen and heard when it came to the men's treatment of them. Still, Dwalin continued to try, and it was a type of bravery that perhaps was often unmarked.

Once their post was all stamped and paid for, they both bid the clerk a polite farewell (which went largely unacknowledged) and left the dark little office to step back into the cold. Bilbo offered Dwalin a small smile, but neither said anything as they trudged back towards The Pike.

Seeing how the mood had dropped, and now having a better grasp on what it was the dwarves were facing while here in Lake Town, Bilbo pulled out his pipe and held it up. "Mind if I smoke?"

"I bloody do mind, yes." Dwalin huffed at him. "Disgusting habit. I expect it from the others, but I'm surprised by you, lad."

Bilbo tried not to smile at the predictable response, even as he tucked his pipe back inside of his pocket. He'd heard Dwalin lecturing some of the others on their journey about his feelings on pipeweed, and knew very well that it might be enough to kick the dwarf out of his sudden low mood.

"It's deemed quite respectable in the Shire to smoke a pipe, and both my parents indulged," Bilbo shrugged. "Just seemed natural that once I was of an age, I picked it up too."

"Aye, that's probably why Fili and Kili both do it, what with Dis and Thorin smoking like chimneys." Dwalin frowned hard, clearly annoyed by the whole thing. "Still, odd how you hobbits can be so similar to us in some ways. Smoking, drinking, eating..."

"Not fighting, though," Bilbo grinned, wedging his cold hands deep into his coat pockets. "We are fairly mistrustful of outsiders, however, and we're surprisingly insular folk, considering how generally chatty we are."

"Stubborn, to boot," Dwalin added with a smirk.

"Oh goodness, no!" Bilbo stuck his nose in the air snootily. "Boots? Repulsive contraptions! I'd not be caught dead in... footwear."

He shuddered at the last word theatrically. He was deliberately playing up to the part, doing something akin to his Lobelia Sackville-Baggins impression, and Dwalin barked another short laugh.

"And what about romance, then?" the dwarf glanced at him, something oddly sly in his eyes. "How do you Shirelings conduct yourselves there?"

Bilbo cocked his head to one side. "You're not trying to proposition me, are you?"

"Trust me, laddie," Dwalin grinned. "If it were me trying to proposition you, you'd know about it. Unlike some, I don't see the point of pussy-footing about stuff like that. If you want someone, you tell 'em. Can't do bugger all if you don't at least start there!"

Bilbo forced out a little laugh at that, wondering not for the first time just how much Dwalin knew. He was a big fellow, but more and more often lately he had been surprising Bilbo with his sudden, and unexpected presence. It was unspoken that Dwalin was something of a bodyguard to Thorin, watching his back, and when not doing that, keeping an eye on others in the company as his king and cousin directed. He knew from the way Dwalin had hovered around him at the beginning of their quest that Thorin had likely told him to keep an eye on the 'outsider' until they could be sure of him. He also knew Dwalin had been entrusted to make certain neither Bilbo nor Ori got into any serious danger, as the two weakest fighters in the Company.

As a bodyguard, of course, even an informal one, it was likely part of his job to watch and listen. It shouldn't be so surprising to Bilbo to find he was good at it, and the hobbit resolved to be far more careful of this in future. For now, his immediate concern was whether or not Dwalin knew or suspected his feelings for Thorin.

"I consider you a friend, Bilbo," the big dwarf said a little gruffly. "It's not in me to interfere or stick my nose into the business of others, you know?"

"Of course," Bilbo replied a little faintly, trying not to panic.

"Thing is," Dwalin continued, uncharacteristically hesitant. "None of us ever thought to ask or bring it up, but after hearing that soft-headed idiot running his mouth off in The Pike, I s'pose I just felt someone should make sure you don't object to how we dwarrow don't give a rats arse about who we love, y'see?"

Suddenly it all clicked neatly into place. Dwalin wasn't asking Bilbo about his own silly and fruitless romantic overtures to their leader, but rather trying to be considerate of what he perceived might be a cultural difference. It was all the hobbit could do not to sigh in relief.

"No Dwalin, it doesn't bother me in the slightest if two males are romantically involved," he said it seriously, wanting to impress upon his friend the truth of his words. Then a thought occurred to him, and it was too good to pass up. "Neither here nor there for me, in any case, as I'm female."

Dwalin's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open, before he quickly snapped it shut again and gave Bilbo an assessing stare. "I can't always tell if you're joking."

"Oh dear," Bilbo shrugged, trying not to grin too wide. "I guess you'll never know for sure!"

He supposed there were hobbits in the world who might be offended to have their gender called into question, but Bilbo knew that compared to a dwarf, he probably did look a little feminine. He was small and round, no beard to speak of, and his voice was much higher. It certainly helped his silly jest that very little was known about hobbits outside of the Shire, and he felt Dwalin and the rest of the company had gotten quite a lot of entertainment at his expense so far. It was only fair he got a little joke in every now and then.

Dwalin snorted and shoved the hobbit in a friendly manner. "Don't make me camp out under the bed and try to catch you with your pants down, you know damn well I'd do it."

"That's no way to treat a lady," Bilbo chastised mildly. "Don't make me tell Thorin on you."

"Good point," Dwalin scoffed. "I reckon he'd skin me alive!"

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by a young voice yelp from down a nearby alleyway. Both Bilbo and Dwalin stopped, and without so much as glancing at one another, hurried off in the direction of the cry.

"I've not done anything!"

"You don't decide that, you filthy little urchin, I do!" came the voice of a man, dripping with malice. "Now empty your pockets!"

"Let go of my sister first!" came the voice, a boy it sounded like, and much closer now as Bilbo and Dwalin began to move more quickly. "Then I'll do as you ask!"

"You'll do it anyway, boy, or suffer the consequences!"

Rounding a sharp corner down the narrow walkway, they saw a big man in old armour and a red cloak. Flanking him were two other soldiers, both with weapons drawn, and one holding a teenage girl, of whom Bilbo could only see skirts and a cloak. Facing them was the boy, dark hair, pale face, and wide eyes, his shoulder stiff and hands held up in placation.

"What's going on here?" Dwalin rumbled, and everyone turned to face the two of them with varying degrees of surprise. As they did so, the identity of the girl was revealed, and Bilbo gasped.

"Miss Sigrid!" he hurried towards her, seeing how she was being held so roughly, and scowled up at the big guard. "You let go of her immediately, you brute! How dare you!"

The young woman looked absolutely petrified. "Mister Baggins? What are you...?"

"Move along," the man in the red cloak was suddenly between them, glaring down at Bilbo. "This is not your concern."

"It absolutely is my concern," Bilbo replied. "These are children! Why have they been cornered and harassed down a dark alleyway? Who do you think you are?"

The man drew himself up, his face as weathered as his armour, and curled his lip disdainfully down at Bilbo. "I am Braga, Captain of the Guard of Lake Town."

Bilbo refused to back down, even in the face of this new information. He had heard of Captain Braga, of course - it would have been impossible not to. Still, they had not met before, and big and terrifying as the Captain was, the fact remained that behind him, poor young Sigrid was being held in something akin to a choke-hold.

"I am Bilbo Baggins," the hobbit began, only to have his introduction waved impatiently away.

"I know who you are, halfling," the Captain sneered. "Alfrid has told me of you."

That was interesting, Bilbo noted.

"Aye, and I'm Dwalin, son of Fundin, and you'll be letting the little ones go now."

The dwarf, oddly small before the three big guards, came up to stand at Bilbo's back, arms crossed and scowl set in warning. Despite being shorter in stature, if he had been a gambling hobbit, he would have put his money on Dwalin winning any altercation, even unarmed as he was. Bilbo had seen his friend take down many a foe, and with an ease that had seemed almost impossible.

"These miscreants are in my custody," Captain Braga replied.

"For what reason?" Bilbo butted in quickly.

"That's none of your concern," the Captain practically snarled, something that might have bothered Bilbo in the past, had he not been snarled at by literal Wargs, and at quite close quarters, too. "My authority isn't to be questioned by the likes of you. Now move along!"

Dwalin looked like he was about to prove Bilbo's faith in his fighting abilities, lurching forward, but the hobbit caught him up short and spoke quickly. "Miss Sigrid, how old are you, please?"

"I... what?" the young woman looked so frightened, poor thing, it took her a moment to gather herself. "I'm... fifteen, Mister Baggins."

Bilbo nodded once, then turned to the young boy. "And you? Master Bain, I assume?"

The dark haired youth nodded, his eyes like saucers, putting the hobbit somewhat in mind of Kili. "Thirteen, sir."

"Well, that settles it, then," Bilbo turned back to the Captain, speaking firmly. "As Captain of the Guard, I'm sure you realise that it's against the laws of Lake Town to detain any resident below the age of sixteen, which both of these children are, as you have just heard. If you know of me, Captain, then you will be aware that I work as a scribe up at the Town Hall, and have become very familiar with these sorts of legalities. Just as a bit of light reading in my spare time, you understand."

Captain Braga's face had gone a very interesting shade of puce.

"Now, of course I realise that a busy person such as yourself couldn't possibly be expected to know the ages of every single denizen of the township," Bilbo pressed ahead. "But I'm quite sure you were about to check their ages, and now that has been completed, you will, quite rightly, be letting these children go."

There was a heavy moment of silence, before the Captain, glaring down at Bilbo the whole time, raised his hand in signal to the guard behind him. Sigrid was let go much more roughly than necessary, and her brother jumped forward with a cry of worry.

"Sigrid! Are you alright?"

Deeply concerned for the girl, Bilbo moved to go to her too, but suddenly there was a large hand fisted into the front of his coat, and he was face to face with the furious Captain. He only had time to gasp in shock, before another, smaller but no less meaty hand, snatched up the Captain's wrist forcefully.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Dwalin growled, the warning in his tone as evident as the force behind his own hold on the man. "Don't think people would take it so well to learn their Captain is harassing kids and innocent upholders of the law, do you?"

The other two guards still had their blades drawn, and Bilbo felt a mild sense of panic that Sigrid and Bain were still on the snowy ground, looking absolutely petrified. Then, Captain Braga released him, and Dwalin did the same, in turn.

"This isn't over," the Captain warned, baring his teeth at the two of them. "I'll be watching you. All of you."

With that, he turned on his heel, cloak swirling behind him, and motioned for the other two guardsmen to follow him. Bilbo couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, certain he had been about to be dragged to the stocks, or some such thing, had it not been for Dwalin. He looked up at his friend gratefully, whose only answer was to pat him gently on the shoulder, before both hobbit and dwarf turned their attention to the two frightened children huddled together on the ground.