Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In deference to the cold and snow, Bilbo made the trek back to Bag End in his fur. He wasn’t the only hobbit to return home in such a state, he knew, following the Thain’s recommendation that they make use of their second forms in order to preserve what resources they could. Winter had settled into the land sooner than usual, leaving much of the Shire unprepared for the season. They gathered and pooled what fuel and food they could, but the growing snowdrifts suggested the relief of spring would be a long time in coming.

Despite the foul weather and worrisome tidings, Bilbo found himself in a fairly pleasant mood. At least he could do something in face of this growing emergency. In the months following his mother’s death he’d had little reason to make it out of bed; now he supported the Thain in supervising resource requests and doing whatever he could to ensure every family had enough to get by. Things could be worse, he thought, and there was no better feeling than that of being useful.

 With these thoughts on his mind, he did not notice the figure crouched beneath his kitchen window until he had nearly reached the door. Immediately it was clear that this was not a hobbit: he could see sturdy leather boots and their tracks in the snow. It was also immediately clear that this stranger had not been expecting anyone to come by. He gave a muffled shout in surprise when Bilbo shifted and approached him.

 Hobbits were notoriously silent on their feet, whether they tread on two or four.

“Can I help you?”

A less well read hobbit might have pegged this stranger as a child of men. Bilbo was quick to notice the golden scruff on the sunken cheeks before him and knew otherwise. A dwarf! Why he had never seen a dwarf before, let alone one as young as this dwarf seemed to be! His height was nearly up to Bilbo’s chest and he was much thinner than one might have expected, even with the many layers of fabric and bedraggled cloak he wore. He had a very nervous look in his eye and Bilbo was quite sure he wanted to bolt. 

Well that wouldn’t do at all. If there were dwarves in the Shire then the Thain needed to know about it, and if this dwarf was on his own, he couldn’t possibly leave him out to fend for himself in this weather! No respectable hobbit would abandon a child, even if it was a child of a different race.

As the dwarf had not yet replied, still shocked by Bilbo’s sudden appearance and obviously attempting to come up with some excuse for lurking beneath the window, Bilbo stepped forward and offered him his hand.

“Bilbo Baggins. Won’t you come in for a spot of tea?”

It became immediately evident that his young guest was unfamiliar with hobbits. He was quite surprised by Bilbo’s invitation and refused to take his hand, but followed him inside all the same. When Bilbo tried to take his lumpy cloak and hang it to dry the boy refused, clutching it closer. He did at least remove his boots, after some insistence, and once inside stared at everything he encountered, from the cluttered and homey contents of Bag End to Bilbo himself. In fact, he was still in the entryway staring when the kettle boiled and Bilbo had to go and fetch him. 

“Take the seat closest to the fire,” he urged the lad, bustling around as he prepared their tea and served the sandwiches he had hastily pulled together. “There we are. You look a fright, you know, lips nearly blue from the chill! I’m sure your mother is worried sick.”

He expected an explanation at that point, but one wasn’t forthcoming. The dwarf child ensconced in his arm chair devoured the nearest sandwich with an astonishing ferocity and watched Bilbo with a wary expression. He hadn’t said a word thus far, not even his name, and if Bilbo was honest with himself he was getting a bit worried. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea after all.

The sharpness of the boy’s cheekbones reassured him otherwise.

“Why don’t you tell me your name,” he suggested in a gentle tone. “I’d like to help you, you see, and that would be easier if I know who you are.”

For a brief moment he wondered if the dwarf even understood him. What was that language the dwarves spoke? Khu-something? His heart sank, imagining the boy’s distress at being lost and alone, unable to communicate. But the dwarf didn’t seem overly distressed, really. His primary emotion seemed to be distrust. When he finally opened his mouth, it wasn’t to answer Bilbo’s question.

“How come you have a wolf but you’re not a dwarf?”

The question startled a laugh out of Bilbo, as it was so far from what he had expected. It isn’t useful in the least, either, only confirming his suspicion that the boy has no knowledge of hobbits.

“Dwarves are not the only race with a wolf form,” he told his young guest. Out of nerves he picked up his own cup of tea and took a sip. “It is said that the Green Lady Yavanna gave that form to all the small folk, dwarf and hobbit included.”

The dwarf did not reply to that, reaching quickly for another sandwich and devouring it as he had the first. It was a good thing Bilbo had baked that morning. His young guest had quite the appetite.

“Why’re you feeding me? You’re not a dwarf."

Bilbo did his best not to wince at the spray of crumbs. “No, I am not a dwarf, lad. But I am a reasonable person and you looked to be needing help. Well… you looked to be about to steal my silver, but I assume that was just because you need help and didn’t want to ask for it.”

“Uncle says not to trust strangers,” the dwarf said softly. He curled up more in the chair, tucking his feet beneath him as he reached for another sandwich. “Especially ones who aren’t dwarves.”

He looked smaller now, all curled up. His hair was limp with melted snow, his cheeks still a fierce red. Bilbo felt a wave of protectiveness rising in his chest. His guest was just a child, after all.

“Your uncle sounds very smart.” He moved forward, kneeling on the rug in front of the arm chair to put him nearer to the dwarf’s height. “But I’m sure he would not want you to be alone either. I’m not going to hurt you, lad. I only want to help.”

“How?” The word was spoken in a whisper, blue eyes pleading as the child clearly warred with his instincts.

“By getting you warmed up and dried off so that we can find your family,” Bilbo replied softly. Though he was an only child he had a fair amount of experience dealing with children from babysitting his various cousins. He kept his voice low and tried to look as reassuring as possible. “How does that sound?”

The boy shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but eventually gave a tiny nod. He sat up and moved to unclasp his lumpy cloak, letting it fall down around his shoulders. Only now Bilbo could tell that it wasn’t the cloak that had been lumpy; tucked into the thick vest the lad wore and supported by his left arm was a small, still bundle of fur.

“I tried to keep him warm,” the young dwarf mumbled, gently stroking a finger along the wolf pup’s snout. He was little more than a lump of dark grey fur, with two bright blue eyes blinking lazily in the sudden light. “But he won’t change back. Can you help us?”

Chapter Text

“Oh dear,” Bilbo murmured, sinking back on his haunches in front of the stuffed arm chair as the wolf pup began to uncurl. “Oh dear.”

The pup stumbled out of his makeshift nest in the young dwarf’s clothes and clambered clumsily into his lap. Bilbo offered his hand to be scented and the wolf gave it a tiny lick, chuffing in approval before lifting his nose and sniffing toward the sandwich tray.

“I think you’d best explain,” Bilbo managed, reaching for the last remaining sandwich. He dissected it and offered a chunk of chicken breast to the pup. His gaze moved to the young blond dwarf, whose lips were twisted in worry. “From the beginning, master…”

“Fίli. And this is my brother Kίli.”

Bilbo gave a decisive nod as he continued to feed the small wolf what was left of the chicken. “Right then. It’s getting late, so I can’t imagine we can get you home tonight. There are no dwarves living in the Shire; are you from Bree? Is that where your parents are?”

The young dwarf shook his head, fingers scrubbing gently through his brother’s fur as the pup ate. “We don’t live anywhere. The caravan is always traveling.”

“Well how did you come to be here?” Bilbo pressed. When the last of the chicken disappeared from between his fingers the little wolf pup stumbled forward, looking for more. Bilbo caught him carefully before he could fall, only for Fίli to snatch him back.

“He doesn’t like being held by strangers,” he said in explanation, though it seemed to Bilbo that of the two, Fίli had been more distressed than his little brother. “Is there any more food?”

Despairing that he would never get the full story from the dwarflings, Bilbo nodded and clambered to his feet. The rest of the chicken was still out on the table from when he’d made sandwiches earlier. He led the way through the smial and turned to fetch a plate.

“We were attacked.” Seeing the food, Fίli placed his brother on the table beside the platter.

“Don’t—“ Too late. The pup had pounced, making a mess of both himself and the table. Bilbo winced at the sight of it and set about making tea. A nice soothing chamomile would do him some good, he thought. “Attacked?”

“Mm.” Fίli had no compunctions about stealing pinches of chicken right out from under the pup. He avoided Bilbo’s enquiring gaze, eyes fixed determinedly on the food instead. “They were—I don’t know the word for it in Westron. Ozodl kund. Wolves. Pure wolves? Mister Balin told us to run, so I grabbed Kίli.”

The pup in question, having finished eating all that was left of the roast bird, had plopped down amongst the bones and grease, watching Bilbo with heavy lidded eyes.

Bilbo froze where he stood, startled by Fίli’s explanation. Surely such danger wouldn’t be found in the Shire. Perhaps Fίli’s pack had been quite a ways off? Oh, but they had always been safe, had never faced a danger such as this. The Thain would need to know immediately.

“Fell wolves?” he asked, doing his level best to stay calm. “That have no other form? Where was this? How far did you run?”

“Fell,” Fίli repeated, as though trying the word out on his tongue. “Fell wolves, yes. That sounds right. We… I don’t know. We ran as fast as we could for a long time. I carried him part of the way. That was two days ago. We’ve been wandering ever since.”

At that point, Bilbo would have begun to worry properly. Fell wolves, within two days run of the Shire? It was unheard of! His own concerns fell to the wayside though, as he realized Fίli had begun to tear up.

“They should have found us by now,” he said in a small voice, reaching to gently stroke his brother’s ears. “They’ve gotta be looking, unless they’re…”

He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, expression wavering. It seemed he would not allow himself to cry properly. Instead, he pulled his brother into his lap again and wrapped both arms around the unresisting pup.

“We need to go now,” he informed Bilbo. “If Mister Balin and the others haven’t found us, then we need to go after Mama.”

Before Bilbo could react, he had leaped to his feet and run to fetch his cloak. When Bilbo caught up, he was struggling to fasten it with one hand. “We’ll go find Mama and Uncle Thorin, okay Kee? You don’t have to change, I can carry you.”

“Now hang on a moment!”

Fίli didn’t hear him or didn’t care to stop; he managed the cloak and went for his boots, his brother tucked once more into his vest.

“Master Fίli, stop right there!” Bilbo moved around in front of him to block the dwarf’s access to the door. It was only then that Fίli looked up at him, eyes bright.

“I shouldn’t have told you. We’ve gotta go find Mama.”

“And find her you shall,” Bilbo promised, moving to kneel in front of the child once again. “But it’s already getting dark out and it’s very cold. You haven’t any supplies and don’t, if I may make an assumption, know exactly where you’re going. There are dangerous beasts out there, it’s just not safe.”

“But she won’t know what happened. She won’t know to look for us here! Please, Mister, we have to go.” The tears were back, despite Fίli’s clear efforts to hide them.

“I told you that I would help you find your family and I meant it.” Bilbo reached for Fίli’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we will go find her. Tonight it looks like the pair of you could use a bath, fresh clothes, some supper and a nice warm bed. How does that sound?”

Fίli looked hesitant, but a glance outside revealed snowflakes swirling in the dim glow of the fading sunset and that seemed to change his mind. “Tomorrow, you promise?”

“I promise.”

Getting two young dwarves, one of whom would not change from his wolf form, through bath, supper and bed, was much easier in theory than in practice. Fίli at least consented to wash after the promise of more food, but that left Bilbo with the problem of finding him something to wear. He’d have to do a light scrub of the boy’s clothes so that he could wear them tomorrow as well and unless Kίli changed back, he wouldn’t have clean clothes for him either. Though if Kίli stayed a pup-- ought Bilbo be more concerned about that?—then clothes wouldn’t be an issue, clean or otherwise.

Content to leave the lads to their bath—once Kίli had caught sight of the warm water he’d jumped right in; Bilbo tried not to wince at the unfortunate wet dog smell, for that was the reason most Hobbits preferred their two-legged form for bathing— Bilbo retreated to one of the many rooms he used for storage. His father, very fickle about things, refused to ever get rid of anything. Within a few moments of digging he had located a chest of clothes from when he’d been a fauntling.

Clothing sorted for the most part he set to making supper. In all the excitement he’d missed dinner and none of the sandwiches from his impromptu tea with Fίli had ever made their way to him. Indeed, Bilbo was feeling quite ravenous as he consulted his pantry.

By the time the splashing in the other room had ceased, the table was set. It was meager fair, really, but Bilbo at least had the comfort of knowing his guests wouldn’t gossip to his neighbors about it. Honestly, only three chicken pot pies, mashed potatoes, sausage, vegetable stew, and a cheese plate for the three of them? His father would have been ashamed.

“Mister Boggins!” Distracted as he was, the sound of two bare feet slapping at the wooden floor as one of his guests pelted down the hall did not immediately register. “I smell food!”

“That’s Baggins, not Boggins. You have a very clever nose, don’t you?” Bilbo turned from fishing out some napkins. “Kίli, I presume? A pleasure to meet y—oh!”

The dark haired dwarfling was bare as the day he’d been born, save for the light sprinkling of body hair that covered him. He was nearly as hairy as his wolf form, Bilbo thought privately. He had also clambered up to stand on one of the chairs and was reaching for a roll.

“None of that!” Bilbo scolded, moving the bread basket out of reach. “I don’t allow pants-less pups at my supper table.”

“Sorry Mister Baggins.” Fίli, wearing a towel and somehow even more body hair than Kίli, lifted his brother from the chair and set him on the floor. “You said something about clothes?”

Bilbo nodded and directed him to the spare bedroom where he’d left the clothes he’d retrieved. The boys were dressed in short order and returned for supper. Kίli’s hair was a wild, dripping mane, but they were covered and he couldn’t begrudge them their meal.

“Are you a king?” Fίli asked quite suddenly, once he’d filled his brother’s plate. He set about filling his own, apparently unfazed by Bilbo’s startled expression.

“King? What a funny question. No, dear boy, I am not a king. Just a simple gentlehobbit.”

“But you have lots of food,” Kίli protested, waving around a fork of mashed potatoes as though to emphasize his point. “Lots and lots!”

“When I’m king everyone will have lots of food,” Fίli said between large bites. “Nobody’ll be hungry.”

Bilbo watched as the boys devoured their meals, eagerly refilling their plates. If anything, Fίli’s words only confirmed that their pack had fallen on hard times.

“I’m sure you will,” he said gently, indulging in the boy’s fantasy. He imagined it was a feature of dwarves to dream of royalty and a full belly. The latter they at least had in common with hobbits. “You’d be a very good king.”

Supper finished not long after it had begun, from a combination of the dwarves’ ravenous hunger and Bilbo’s own eagerness to make up for his missed meal. Hardly a crumb was left by the time they had finished. Bilbo refused to let the lads help clean up; they were guests, for one, and he wasn’t sure he trusted such small hands with his mother’s dinnerware.

“The second bedroom on the left is mine,” he told them instead. “There’s a hair brush on the nightstand. Why don’t you two try to sort yourselves out while I finish up here?”

While he washed and dried, Bilbo planned. He was quite good at planning, a trait thankfully inherited from both sides of his family. As things stood, there were two problems: the dwarves and this issue of fell wolves. The latter he could do little about, save for inform the Thain as soon as possible. The former, well. There were arrangements to be made for being away for a few days, the matter of packing both food and supplies, figuring out where it was exactly they were going and ensuring that the three of them made it there safely.

One step at a time, he reminded himself as he put away the last dish. He certainly couldn’t abandon the lads now, even if the thought of a journey out into the snow made his gut clench. Well, he’d always dreamed of adventures when he was young. It was time to face the reality of those dreams.

Bilbo padded through the smial, pausing to set a fire in the guest room as he passed, before gathering some supplies and tracking down his guests. He found them sitting on his bed, Kίli in his brother’s lap as Fίli brushed. Fίli’s own golden mane had clearly already been tended to and there were even two braids framing his face. In his borrowed clothes he looked very little like the dwarf Bilbo had found in his garden earlier that day.

“I brought a map,” Bilbo said, by way of greeting. He sat down on top of the quilt with the lads and unfolded the map so that it sat between them. “We’re here.” He pointed to the carefully painted green door that marked the location of Bag End. “Can you tell me where you were attacked?”

Kίli pulled away from his brother as Fίli squinted at the map. The younger dwarf curled up against his brother, close by but out of the way. Bilbo had a feeling that was a common position for him to take.

After a long moment of waiting, Bilbo prompted, “Do you know what direction you came from?”

“South,” Fίli said, which was at least a start. He traced the map with a single finger. “We didn’t go to Bree, though we came from the West. We forded the river.” He touched on the Sarn Ford before landing just south of Tuckborough. “I think maybe here? We ran through some woods?”

“Excellent. Then we’ve a place to start tomorrow.”

Glad that had gone much simply than he had expected—and wasn’t it fortunate they came from Tuckborough; they could head straight for the Thain—Bilbo folded the map away again. Kίli was obviously nodding off where he lay against his brother and Fίli didn’t look much better.

“Let’s get you two in bed, then,” he said, clambering to his feet. He offered Fίli a hand up, chuckling softly when the older dwarf moved to lift his brother. He wasn’t tall enough to hold him comfortably, but made up for that with determination. It was a quite endearing sight and Bilbo felt his heart swell in sudden fondness of his two little charges.

He showed them to the room across the hall from his own and got them nicely tucked in, adding another log to the hearth to keep away the chill. Kίli turned back to his pup form when his back was turned and, after meeting Bilbo’s eyes and giving him a little nod, Fίli followed suite.

They lay curled together on top of the quilt, undoing Bilbo’s gentle tucking, but he found he could not mind. If this was what brought them comfort after being separated from their kin by violence, he would not speak against it. Hobbit customs dictated sleeping with four feet when a guest was quite the rude gesture, implying one did not believe their host could provide adequate warmth or bedding. This, however, just seemed to be the way of the dwarves.

“We’ll find your pack tomorrow,” he murmured to the pair from the doorway. “Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

“Where’s your sled?”

Bilbo paused in his packing of the spare rucksack and raised both eyebrows at Kíli’s question. “My what?”

“Your sled,” the pup repeated from his place on the rug where he and Fíli were sorting out winter-wear from Bilbo’s fauntling years. “We’re going on a trip, yeah? You have to carry things on a sled?”

Bilbo assumed, not for the first time since his unexpected guests had arrived, that this must be a dwarf thing.

“Well that’s why I’m packing this, dear boy,” he replied, pulling the drawstring closed and hefting the bag onto his back in demonstration. “We shan’t need to carry much, I don’t believe. It’s a day’s walk to Tuckborough but once we arrive we’ll stay at the Great Smials. I’m half Took, you see. We’ll be quite welcome.”

Kíli and Fíli exchanged a look that might have been baffled, but didn’t ask for any clarification, so Bilbo returned to his packing. In a matter of minutes he had finished and went to set the rucksack by its larger companion in the hall.

“If we want to arrive before nightfall we’ll need to get going soon,” he reminded the lads as he returned. “What’ve you found?”

Fíli solemnly presented him with two knitted caps and scarves, which they had chosen as the best of the lot. Bilbo pulled one over Kíli’s ears, checking that it fit warmly, but wasn’t too snug. When Fíli did the same with his own hat, he nodded in approval.

After making sure both boys were wrapped up in all of their layers, with the addition of Bilbo’s donated hats and scarves, Bilbo declared them ready to leave. He hefted the larger pack, full primarily of food, onto his back and offered the smaller one to Fíli.

“Can you manage?” he asked as the lad pulled it on. The smaller dwarf fiddled with the straps, frowning a bit, before nodding. He’d been unusually taciturn ever since breakfast. Bilbo couldn’t fathom why, but as the boy had been helpful in preparation of their trip, he didn’t try to pester him for an explanation.

Kíli at least seemed thrilled at the prospect of traveling. He trampled through the snow in his funny, heavy boots, kicking at snow drifts and taking the occasional tumble over the uneven terrain. The Shirriffs had the main roads well maintained, but the pup seemed adamant in making his way along top of the banks of shoveled snow.

Bilbo nearly protested at this, but when he made to call him back Fíli caught his eye and shook his head. Well, then. He supposed the lad knew his own brother’s limits.

“I won’t be the one carrying him if he tires,” he told Fíli and the dwarf nodded, accepting that without argument as he tromped along beside Bilbo, hands buried deep in his pockets.

Eventually Kíli fell back to walk with them, chattering in a mixture of Westron and the strange dwarvish language that Bilbo did not understand. It seemed the pup was not as far in his studies as Fíli, given his age, and didn’t have the same fluency in Common that Fíli possessed. When questioned about the language, Fíli refused to elaborate, much to Bilbo’s frustration.

“It’s nothing,” Fíli said quickly. “Just brothers-speak.”

When they stopped for elevenses, which wasn’t much more than a few pastries and a bit of cheese, Bilbo was finally able to get to the root of Fíli’s withdrawn mood. He hadn’t been exactly talkative the night before, but today he had done little but scowl and spoke only when prompted.

“Are you not pleased to return to your family?” Bilbo asked quietly, watching the young dwarf devour his pastry with the same vigor he’d expressed at every meal presented to him so far. Kíli was a little ways off, building something in the snow.

“I am.” The words were defensive and quickly spoken, though the lad did not look up. It was only after a few moments that he added, “But Uncle will be mad.”

Mad to see his nephews safe and sound? Surely not. “Why would you think that?”

“We’re dwarves. We… we don’t need other people. We’re not supposed to trust outsiders.” He glanced guiltily toward Bilbo at that. Somehow along the way, Bilbo realized, these two had begun to trust him. At first Fíli had questioned his motives at every turn, but not any more. They’d accepted his charity and his help, which seemed to Bilbo the obvious course of action. Apparently it was not the dwarven way.

“There is no shame in accepting assistance freely offered,” Bilbo said firmly. Dwarven or not, he would not allow this child to feel badly for being unable to traverse the wilderness and look after his brother without help. “In fact, I would go so far to say that only a fool would refuse a helping hand when it is needed. And if your Uncle has a problem with that then he can answer to me.”

He shook the crumbs from his napkin and offered Fíli a hand up. The young dwarf looked a bit dubious, but not nearly as glum as before much to his relief. “Now, let’s see what your brother has made and get going again or we’ll never reach Tuckborough before nightfall.”

Bilbo heard the horse and cart well before it could be seen behind them. He assumed the dwarves had heard the same, but Fíli’s reaction when he glanced back proved otherwise. His rucksack hit the path with a soft thud and when Bilbo looked to the side it was just in time to see a flash of gold and white fur tackling Kíli into the snow bank. The younger dwarf went to four paws immediately upon landing beneath his brother and the two disappeared to the other side of the mound in a trice, leaving Bilbo with an extra pack and a startled expression.

“Boys?” he called, eventually shaking himself from his stupor. He moved the pack—heavy with clothes, mostly, and a few jars of applesauce he’d intended to donate to the food collection—to the side of the road and clambered over the snow pile. It took a moment for him to spot the hastily burrowed den, from inside of which two pairs of eyes blinked at him.

“And what are we doing down here?”

The golden wolf bared his teeth, even as the gray pile of fluff hid his face against Fíli’s body. Bilbo sighed.

“It’s only Hamfast Gamgee,” he told them. “He’s the only hobbit in Hobbiton who owns a horse, which is why he has such a large cart. He’s a good hobbit, Hamfast. The only one my mother ever trusted in her garden, and I still trust him there to this day. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

His words had little effect, both dwarves refusing to listen to his reasoning. After a moment of consternation, Bilbo sighed and went back to the road to hail his friend and neighbor.

“Mister Bilbo, good afternoon!” Hamfast called, twitching the reins to bring Willow to a stop. The horse, complacent and more good natured than any pony in the Shire, leaned over to lip at Bilbo’s hair in greeting. He batted her away fondly.

“Good day, Hamfast,” he replied as his neighbor clambered down from his perch atop the wagon.

“Why if I’d known you were coming this way, I’d have offered you a lift, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast said, clasping Bilbo’s hand in greeting. Bilbo returned the gesture, used to his neighbor’s good cheer.

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have accepted,” he replied. “Are you heading down to Tuckborough, then?”

“Got to deliver the donations from Hobbiton.” Hamfast nodded, patting Willow’s flank. “Plenty of families more needy than our lot, I’m sure you know. Why I think we’ve even got some of the supplies you donated yesterday. But what brings you down this way? More business with the Thrain?”

“Of one sort or another, yes.” A glance back toward the snowbank revealed that they were being watched. Hamfast followed his gaze and gave a chuckle.

“Didn’t realize you’d had family come to stay. Come on, then, there’s plenty of room for all of us. The little ‘uns can ride in the back.”

“Ah, actually…” Bilbo hesitated, giving another look over his shoulder at the pups before turning back to his friend. “It’s not as simple as that I’m afraid.” He gave a quick summation of last night’s events and the pups’ circumstances. In the end, Hamfast shook his head and clasped Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Don’t make a bit of difference, that. Dwarflings or fauntlings, we’re happy to offer a ride to all three of you.”

Bilbo’s grateful response was cut short when a small hand clasped around his wrist and dragged him forcibly away.

“You told him about us,” Fíli accused, once he had deemed them out of the other hobbit’s earshot. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone, you promised!”

“I did no such thing!” Bilbo tugged his hand free. Honestly, the impertinence! Kíli was not to be seen, probably tucked safely in the makeshift den. “We will need all the help we can get to find your pack and a ride to Tuckborough will save half a day’s walking.”

“I don’t trust him.” The young dwarf glared past Bilbo,  huffing in frustration.

“Do you trust me? He is a fine fellow, I swear it.”

“I trust you because you—you helped us. And gave us food! I don’t trust him.”

It was at that point that Hamfast caught their attention with a wave. “I don’t know if you lot have had luncheon, but the missus packed honey scones and candied nuts, if you’d like some?”

Between Kíli’s sudden appearance at the top of the nearest snowdrift and Bilbo’s triumphant grin, Fíli seemed unable to argue. He scooped up his brother and settled him in his vest, as he had done the night before. Bilbo laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the cart.

“We’ll take you up on that offer.”

It did not take long for everyone to get settled comfortably, Fíli and Kíli in the back curled up amongst the jarred and packaged goods while Bilbo sat up front with Hamfast. Luncheon was a brief affair, comprised of shared scones, nuts, and sausage from Bilbo’s pack. As soon as they had scarfed down their shares, Fíli and Kíli curled up again in their wolf forms. The lads had been quiet in front of the newcomer, but they hadn’t been outright rude and Bilbo supposed that was the best he could hope for.

Once they got on their way, Willow’s long strides seemed to fairly eat up the road in front of them. A horse was a useful thing to have, though Bilbo shuddered at the thought of actually riding the beast. He barely came up to her shoulder! Ponies were enough of a stretch, as Bilbo was quite content to walk wherever he needed, but he had to admit that it was quite convenient to travel this way today. They might even make it to Tuckborough in time for dinner.

The next hour or so passed quietly, the dwarves’ snores barely audible beneath the whistle of the wind and Bilbo’s own quiet conversation with Hamfast. They shared the latest gossip, speculating about the length of the winter, and Hamfast politely avoided the topic of the Bilbo’s two charges.

When a small hand landed on Bilbo’s shoulder he startled, not having expected it. Kíli giggled  and clambered up, squeezing between them and settling himself quite comfortably in Bilbo’s lap. Bilbo blinked at him, brows raised questioningly.

“I want to know ‘bout bobbits,” the lad informed him seriously. “Whys your feet so big?”

Bilbo and Hamfast shared a chuckle. “Hobbits, Kíli. Not bobbits. And I suppose in answer to your question… why are your feet so small?”

Kíli appeared stumped by that response, his expression twisting as he thought. “Cause I’m a dwarf. I’ve got dwarf feet.”

“And we have hobbit feet. Big, hairy and as tough as those boots of yours.”

“Kíli?” Fíli’s voice rose sleepily behind them. The dwarf’s head popped up as he got his bearings. “Kíli, what are you doing? Don’t talk to them!”

“I’m learning about hobbits,” Kíli informed his brother cheerfully. “They have hobbit feet!”

“They’re outsiders, you’re not supposed to talk to them. You know that!”

Kíli didn’t seem swayed by his brother’s annoyance. He kept out of reach, one little hand fisting in Bilbo’s jacket for balance. “It’s okay. It’s rec—reconis… um… where you learn about a thing before doing something?”

“Reconnaissance?” Hamfast suggested. Kíli nodded, giving the hobbit a wide grin.

“Yes! Reconasses.” He leaned toward Fíli conspiratorially. “So we can tell Mama later.”

That seemed to pacify the older dwarf, at least for the moment. Fíli repositioned himself, curling up against the side of the wagon so he could keep an eye on his brother. He appeared to be listening intently as Kíli went back to his questioning.

“What about your names?”

“Our names?”

“Bilbo Boggins,” Kíli said, pointing at Bilbo, before turning his finger to Hamfast. “Gamfast Hamgee.” He then pointed at himself. “Kíli. Your names are big.”

Bilbo hesitated for a moment, before resigning himself to explaining the concept of family names, as well as answering whatever other questions Kíli might have until they finally reached their destination.

“Fell wolves? Are you sure, lad?”

Upon arrival, Bilbo had quickly been bundled into the Thain’s study, reassured by his many aunts and uncles that the dwarves would be looked after while he saw to business. Now, facing his grandfather in the cozy room, Bilbo did his best to explain the entire story.

“That’s what the boys said,” he nodded, ignoring the tea at his elbow in favor of twisting his bracers in his hands, a nervous habit he had never quite been able to stop. “They’ve no reason to lie. Near here, they said, just two days past.”

“No, I don’t believe they would lie about such a thing.” The Old Took leaned back into his plush chair with a heavy sigh. It seemed to Bilbo that his grandfather had aged many years in the past few weeks, weighed down by too many worries. “We received similar reports from the rangers just this morning. Fell wolves, in the Shire! It’s a bad business, a very bad business indeed.”

“Who knows?” Bilbo asked lowly. “What of Gandalf?”

“We’ve sent out word, but no one has seen him it seems. The Shirriffs know, of course, and the Bounders. We’ve established a curfew, but there’s not much else we can do. We’re not fighters. Our best hope is the wizard.”

No, the Shire was a peaceful place full of peace loving folk. They’d never had a need to fight, not since the wandering days, which were long past. Perhaps, if they were lucky, the wolves would leave them be. It wasn’t as though they’d be able to break into their smials, would they? But being stuck inside would limit their ability to gather firewood, to visit one another and keep up moral during such a dark season. It was far from ideal.

“Did the Rangers bring any news of dwarves in the area?” he asked, thinking of his promise to the boys. The Thain sighed and shook his head.

“I’m sorry lad. They’re a secretive folk, not likely to be seen unless they want to be. The last dwarves in the area were of the Blue Mountains, hundreds of years past.”

“Fíli said they came from the west. I can’t imagine they’d have moved on with two little ones missing.” Bilbo finally reached for his tea, wanting the comfort of its warmth. He could feel his grandfather appraising him.

“Bilbo, dwarves are not like us,” he said after a long moment. The fire crackling in the hearth behind them sounded loud compared to the Thain’s soft tone. “They are fierce warriors, covetous and crass. Even if they did care for these children, who is to say they believe they’re still alive?”

“What would you have me do?” Bilbo asked, frowning at his grandfather’s words. Fíli hadn’t shown any signs of the type of barbarism the Thain seemed to be implying. Aside from the boys’ lack of table manners, at least.

“A Ranger could take them. Perhaps the elves of Rivendell would know where to find their kin. If nothing else, they are more equipped to handle strange children than we are.”

“I can’t abandon them,” Bilbo protested. “I promised.”

The Thain patted his hand consolingly. “You’ve a big heart, my grandson, but I do not know what you think you can do for them. Perhaps if Gandalf comes…”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted this suggestion, followed by the frantic voice of his Aunt Mirabella, “Bilbo, dear, your dwarves—oh, do come at once, they’re causing quite a ruckus!”

She sounded near to tears and Bilbo leaped to his feet at once. “What’s happened?”

Shaking her head, mouth pressed in a thin line, she gestured for him to follow through the smial to the sitting room. He could hear growling even from the hall and hurried his pace.

The scene that met them was quite worrisome. In one corner of the room Kíli huddled behind his brother, eyes bright with tears. On four feet in front of him, Fíli growled at the hobbits surrounding them, teeth bared dangerously.

“He’s got a knife,” Bilbo’s cousin Prim explained hastily as he entered the room. “The little one, I saw him playing with it, and it’s not right! He could’ve hurt himself. I told Da, but when he tried to take it, they…” She trailed off and gestured at the cornered dwarves. “Oh Bilbo, it’s horrible! Are all dwarves so vicious?”

“They’re scared,” he snapped in reply, more unkindly than she really deserved. “If we could just clear the room, please? No doubt you’re all making them more nervous, looming about.”

“An’ what about you? What are you going to do, then?” The question came from his uncle Gorbadoc, who wore a scowl as he held Prim close. “It’s not right to have your teeth out as a guest. He might’ve hurt her!”

Bilbo was saved replying as Aunt Mirabella followed his instructions and began to usher people out of the room. Everyone crowded in the hall instead, watching warily as Bilbo approached the growling pup.

“It’s all right now,” he said gently, moving to sit cross legged some ways away. “They didn’t mean any harm, they were just concerned.”

Fíli shifted quickly back to his two legged form and pulled Kíli into his lap. “They tried to take it away,” he told Bilbo, voice thick.

From here Bilbo could see the small, sheathed knife that Kíli had clutched in his hand. The handle seemed to be made of some kind of bone or antler, and there were unfamiliar runes etched into the leather of the sheath. Kíli rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, lip still trembling.

“Papa gave it to him,” Fíli went on, voice a bit gentler as he rubbed Kíli’s back. He aimed a glare at the doorway where the other hobbits were crowded and kept his voice pitched low. “It’s not theirs, it’s his. He just likes to look at it sometimes, he wasn’t gonna hurt anybody.”

Kíli looked up at him then, eyes wide and tearful. “Please don’t take it, Mister Boggins.”

“I won’t,” Bilbo promised, his heart breaking a little at the fear and misery in the young boy’s expression. “But why don’t you put it away for now, hm? Keep it safe.”

Nodding, Kíli tucked the little knife into an inside pocket of his vest. “Are we in trouble?”

“No.” Bilbo stood up and offered his hand to help the dwarves to their feet. “Not at all, it was just a misunderstanding.” He gave a stern look to the hobbits watching from the doorway. “Isn’t that right?”

There was a general mumbling of agreement as Bilbo urged the lads to take a seat on the nearest sofa. “Will someone fetch Grandfather for me?” He gave a relieved sigh as most of the adults turned back to their usual routines, while Prim went to fetch the Thain.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Aunt Mirabella asked, checking his pack for the umpteenth time. After a brief conversation with his grandfather, Bilbo had convinced everyone it would be best if they set out this evening. The Thain consented, but insisted on previsioning them.

“Of course we will,” Bilbo replied, checking to be sure that Kíli hadn’t lost his hat. The little dwarves were bundled up again and Bilbo’s pack had been replaced with a heavier duty traveling rucksack, complete with necessary camping equipment.

“But it will be so cold, camping out in the winter like this just isn’t safe.” She had moved on to double checking the smaller pack that Fíli was to carry. The young ones were still antsy in the presence of strangers, but his Aunt had been quick to win them over with sweets. She even tucked a few extra in Fíli’s pack as he watched.

“We’ve matches and flint,” Bilbo replied. “And we can sleep in our furs. With any luck we won’t be out for too long.”

The Thain had given him a large knife to tuck into his belt as well, just in case. Bilbo hoped he wouldn’t have to use it—or his teeth, for that matter. They’d been well fed and set to leave for nearly half an hour now, delayed only by his relatives’ fussing.

“We need to go if we’re to make any headway tonight,” he pointed out gently. “I’ll send word with any Rangers I encounter, and I’ll be back in a few days.” He pulled her into a hug before turning away and gesturing to Fíli and Kíli. “Let’s go then, lads.”

He wished as he stepped over the threshold and into the cold that he had a better plan. But with no word from the Rangers, there seemed to be little choice but to wander and hope that the dwarves spotted them. If they hadn’t any luck in three days, they would come back and regroup, he had decided.

Bilbo tucked his scarf in more firmly and hoped, not for the last time, that they would only encounter dwarves and not the fell wolves of legend.

Chapter Text

Between the effort of walking and the thermos of hot chocolate they shared they were able to keep comfortably warm as they made their way west. It was the best approximation that Bilbo could make, as Fíli indicated that nothing looked familiar. Visibility was low, with the sun setting before their eyes, blinding them directly and indirectly as it glinted across the snow covered hills. For now they had its warmth, at least, though Bilbo realized a bit belatedly that they ought to look for someplace to make camp.

Bilbo was reminded vividly of the walking holidays and camping he had done with his mother and sent up a small prayer of thanks to Yavanna that he at least had some idea what he was doing. If only they had just the elements to worry about! With the threat of dangerous forces lurking nearby he couldn’t even suggest Fíli or Kíli try to call out to their pack. A howl might bring just the type of attention they wished to avoid.

A fire, though, he was afraid they would have to risk. After a day out in the elements, Bilbo didn’t fancy sleeping without at least getting the chance to warm his toes. The boys had been subdued ever since the knife incident and if nothing else Bilbo hoped the promise of warm food would cheer them. He was fairly certain his aunt had hidden a pack of marshmallow squares between the more practical food items that filled his rucksack. Toasted, they would surely at least make Kíli smile.

Bilbo opened his mouth to suggest as much to the boys, only to have the breath knocked out of him as he was slammed against a tree. As he wheezed he realized that he was pinned by what he could only assume was a full grown dwarf. They were a good half dozen inches taller than he was, with sun-darkened skin and hair like Kíli’s, but pulled away from their face. Their beard was braided intricately and Bilbo was quite sure he would have been impressed, had he not been so frightened.

From the corner of his eye he spotted a pair of dark furred shapes tackling his charges.

“N--!” He had barely formed the syllable when something sharp pressed against his neck, fitted just above his scarf and biting ever so slightly into his skin.

“Speak, halfling,” the dwarf growled, light blue eyes flashing fiercely in the light of the setting sun. “I am the mother of the pups you have stolen and I would know what you’ve done to them.”

Though he could not relax, Bilbo was relieved to know that this was but a misunderstanding, and that the boys weren’t in any danger. A hobbit lass would be no less ferocious upon finding her children in strange company, so this dam could not be blamed. All the same, it was difficult to speak against the bite of steel against his neck.

“I can assure you, Madam—“

This time it was a shout from Kíli that interrupted him. The lad crashed through the underbrush to Bilbo’s left, worry clear in his expression.

“Mama! Don’t hurt Mister Baggins, he’s nice!” On his tail came a dwarf even larger than the first, his head shaved to leave a tall crest of hair down the center. He wore two great axes on his back and made to grab at Kíli as the pup skittered forward.

“Dwalin,” the dam growled, her gaze not leaving Bilbo even as Kíli attached himself to her leg.

“He’s slippery,” the crested dwarf replied with a shrug, reaching for Kíli again and pulling him away. From the corner of his eye Bilbo noticed a third dwarf approach, with Fíli perched upon his hip. He had the same dark coloring as Kíli and the dam. Kíli finally let go of his mother and scampered up the dwarf who’d grabbed him, as though he was a tree. Finally he perched on the dwarf’s shoulder, apparently unafraid of his fierce expression. “Your ma told you to stick with Balin, lad. Where are the others?”

Kíli pouted at the scolding, however mild. “But we were attacked!”

All at once every gaze snapped to Bilbo, who after being ignored for several long seconds had tried to begin inching away from the entire debacle. The blade bit into his skin again and the small part of his mind not terrified that he was about to die fussed over the blood that surely stained his lovely scarf.

“The halflings attacked you?” the dwarf carrying Fíli asked. Fíli looked so much younger now, hiding his face in the wild mane of the dwarf that held him. He shook his head silently, grip tightening on the dwarf as Kíli spoke up.

“Lu’! Hu ma—“

“Kíli!” all three adult dwarves shouted in reprimand, making the lad clap a hand over his mouth, much to Bilbo’s consternation.

“There were wolves,” Fíli said in the following silence. “Fell wolves. Mister Balin told us to run, and—“ he broke off, averting his gaze in shame. “I had too—I’m sorry, but Mister Baggins—“

“Found them frozen and half starved in my front garden,” Bilbo jumped in quickly, annoyed that someone had taught Fíli to be ashamed for needing help. “So I fed them and brought them here to find their kin. I certainly didn’t… didn’t abduct them, or whatever terrible thing you’re all thinking.”

At once the blade against his throat retreated, as did the dwarf pinning him to the tree. Bilbo slumped, a hand reaching instinctively to his poor abused neck. The dam before him sheathed a rather alarming looking sword and reached for her youngest.

“Then I owe you a debt… Master Baggins, was it?” With Kíli on her hip, she inclined her head solemnly. Kíli snuggled cheerfully into his mother’s beard as the dam reached behind her head to pull a bejeweled clip from her hair. She held it out to Bilbo. “Go, with our thanks.”

“Dίs,” the dwarf holding Fíli protested. She ignored him, pushing the clasp into Bilbo’s lax hand. As soon as he closed his fingers around it, the three grown dwarves turned as one and set off.

Bilbo blinked at their sudden departure, and then again at the silver clasp in his hand. It shone brightly, clearly well cared for, with several dark blue gems set into the engraved designs. What in the world was he to do with this? He looked after the retreating dwarves. He hadn’t even told the lads goodbye, or asked the dwarves what they knew of the fell wolves. The sun was setting rapidly and now he was on his own!

At least Fíli and Kíli were safe with their kin, he thought, trying to reassure himself. It didn’t work, as he was now alone in a dangerous wood. There was nothing for it. He turned on his heel and ran after the dwarves.

They hadn’t traveled far during the moment of Bilbo’s indecision. Even if he hadn’t been able to follow the heavy boot prints that flattened a path through the snow, he could hear Kíli babbling in “brother speak” which he was beginning to suspect was not a childish made up language at all, but something much more complicated. Even so, the next voice that spoke was rumbling and low, the words in Common.

“The halfling follows.”

Bilbo paused. He hadn’t exactly been trying to sneak up on them, but neither was he sure how to approach them. The decision was taken from his hands as the dwarf carrying Fíli set the pup down and replied, “I’ll deal with him.”

Bilbo did not like the implication that he needed to be dealt with, rather than spoken to, but did his best not to flinch when the dwarf turned back toward him. Now that he had a moment to really look, he realized that this dwarf had a very strong familial resemblance to the dam that had confronted him. Perhaps this was the uncle Fíli had mentioned. Thinking of the child’s worries made Bilbo straighten up, determined not to be intimidated.

“That clasp was made by the hands of the royal line of Durin, its silver and sapphire mined from Erebor itself, the last of its kind. Is it not payment enough for your services, halfling?”

Not having expected that, Bilbo was thrown. “It’s lovely,” he stammered. “But—“

“Even if you do not appreciate its beauty, it is worth whatever food and time you offered many times over.” The dwarf’s scowl darkened all of his features as he loomed over Bilbo. There was a large sword strapped to his back, but even without it he could clearly do quite a bit of damage.

“N-now see here, Master Dwarf, I said no such thing! It is certainly a work of beauty, but I am more concerned about what Fíli said—“

Again he was interrupted. The dwarf’s scowl deepened and he folded his arms over his broad chest, muscles flexing.

“Fíli should have said nothing,” he asserted gruffly. “And if you are to be so base as to seek advantage over us from the words of a child, you—“

“Stop! Just stop this instant, I am not trying to take advantage or offend you!” Bilbo shouted, stomping his foot in emphasis. The dwarf took a half step back, which Bilbo counted as a clear win. “Please listen to me, Master Dwarf. I am a hobbit alone in a darkening wood that is possibly filled with savage beasts. I’m not looking for compensation for doing what any decent person would have done. I am only asking to be allowed to accompany you for safety, at least until the morning.”

The dwarf regarded him coolly for a long moment. Bilbo stared back, trying to exude more confidence than he felt. There was little he could do if the dwarf refused, after all.

“Thorin.”

When the dwarf spoke, it wasn’t either of the answers Bilbo had expected.

“I… pardon?”

“Twice you have called me Master Dwarf. I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror.”

Bilbo’s instincts kicked in immediately. “Bilbo Baggins. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The dwarf, Thorin, raised a brow. He rubbed at his chin, where his beard had been shorn short. “You are a stranger, halfling. But as you have done a service to my sister-sons, I will allow you to accompany us.”

Before Bilbo could voice his thanks, Thorin turned to rejoin his companions. Bilbo huffed at this brusque treatment and hurried to catch up.

“Is Mister Boggins coming with us?” Kíli asked as the two of them rejoined the group.

“Baggins, Kíli,” Bilbo reminded him. “You got it right earlier.” The cheeky imp merely gave him a smile and reached out for his uncle.

“For the time being.” Thorin pulled Kíli up to sit on his shoulders, somehow managing to look completely serious as he explained their arrangement to the others. Much to Bilbo’s surprise, Fíli fell back and shyly took Bilbo’s hand.

“That’s Mister Dwalin,” he said, pointing to the tallest dwarf. “You met Uncle Thorin, and this is Mama.”

“Dίs,” his mother elaborated, noticing her son’s attention. “At your service.” She gave him a brief bow.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” Bilbo said, but already she had turned back to her quiet conversation with Kíli, who was explaining what had happened in detail. Apparently, Bilbo surmised, these three dwarves had gone ahead of the caravan to scout well before the attack had occurred, leaving Fíli and Kíli in the care of one of their mother’s cousins. He kept quiet, trying to learn all he could. It seemed everyone was content to ignore him, even as Kíli finished the tale and began expounding on all he had learned about hobbits.

The sun had almost disappeared completely beyond the horizon when they stopped to make camp. Bilbo squinted in the dim light, unsure how to help, but it was only a matter of minutes before the dwarves had started a fire blazing in a sunken pit. They dug again and built up three walls of snow to protect them from the wind, the open side to the fire, and settled down in the shelter.

Still feeling unsure and a bit unwelcome, Bilbo unrolled his oilskin and sleeping mat on one side. He sat down and stretched his toes toward the fire, hoping to warm them after a day’s walking in the snow.

After Kíli had finished talking about hobbits, the dwarves had been unnervingly silent. They made no small talk, with each other or with Bilbo, and seemed to have no need for words as they settled into their makeshift camp. Thorin and Dίs each sat with a pup in their laps and combs in their hands once the shelter had been suitably prepared. All was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the rustling of the wind. Seeing that no one else was in any rush to cook and that he had many more provisions than he needed himself, Bilbo began to set up supper.

First on the fire went a pot, filled with melted snow, some cream, barley, mushrooms and herbs. It would take a while for the barley to soften, so a pan came out next on which to warm the meat and vegetable filled pastries his family had provided.

“What are you doing, halfling?”

He glanced over his shoulder to find both Dίs and Thorin staring at him. The boys, much more accustomed to his cooking, were more interested in the food. Hair seen to, they huddled together over Fíli’s smaller pack, digging for sweets.

“Well what does it look like?” Bilbo asked, trying not to laugh at such an absurd question. He shook his spoon at the lads. “One sweet each, or you’ll ruin your supper.”

Dίs rescued the pack from the eager young ones and passed it over to him. “We cannot eat your food, Master Baggins.”

He stirred the soup and flipped the pastries on the pan. “Of course you can. The boys have been eating it for several meals now and it hasn’t done them any harm.” Hobbits and dwarves were different, but their stomachs weren’t! What a silly notion.

“We’ve nothing to pay you with,” Thorin said, coming up around his other side. He looked almost angry, brows drawn together.

“That’s no matter. I’ve plenty for us all and what we eat today I won’t have to carry tomorrow.” Bilbo tried very hard not to be insulted. Honestly, did they think he would poison them? Or that he was so lousy a cook that they were ready to make excuses and go to bed hungry rather than eat what he served? He caught Fíli in the corner of his eye, breaking a piece of hard candy to share with his brother.

No, they meant no offense. But these were the people who had taught Fíli to be ashamed to accept help. Of course they wouldn’t just accept his charity. He’d have to handle this delicately.

“If you’re to keep me safe until I’m returned to my people, as I did for your pups, then you’ll need to keep up your energy. Would a meal or two be adequate compensation for such a task?”

He felt more than saw the three dwarves exchange looks before Thorin finally nodded. “We accept those terms.”

Bilbo hid his grin behind his scarf and fetched out napkins to begin serving the pastries. “Good. Then start passing these around. It’s a bit of a mystery what’s in each one, so if you get one you don’t like trade it for another.”

Supper was a success. After pastries and soup Bilbo broke out the marshmallows, much to Fíli and Kíli’s wide eyed amazement. Dίs forwent dessert in favor of sharpening her swords and Dwalin held Kíli in his lap so that the overeager pup didn’t tumble into the flames as he toasted his marshmallows. Thorin watched Bilbo, with an intensity that would have been quite unnerving if he hadn’t seen how gentle the dwarf was capable of being with his nephews.

As it was, he merely felt he was being studied. Perhaps Thorin was waiting for some kind of betrayal or attack. Bilbo kept his chuckle to himself. If that was the case, the dwarf clearly knew nothing of hobbits!

“Bedtime,” Dίs announced, sheathing her weapons again and moving to collect her youngest. She made both pups clean their sticky fingers in the snow before shifting and curling up together in the shelter. To Bilbo’s dismay, Dwalin began to douse the fire in snow, casting them all in darkness.

“We’ll be harder to find this way,” the gruff dwarf explained. “Don’t have to set watch.”

The dwarves had much more experience with this sort of thing, Bilbo had to concede, but without the fire’s warmth he was beginning to chill quite rapidly. Already the dwarves were piled together all in their furs. Thorin’s bright eyes were watching him, blinking lazily as though to ask if he intended to stay up all night and freeze in his skin.

Reluctantly, Bilbo shifted.

It wasn’t that he had anything to be embarrassed about. He had a fine wolf, tawny brown and a perfectly respectable size for a hobbit. Compared to the dwarves, though, he looked like little more than a youngling. He sniffed, ignoring Thorin’s gaze as he curled up on his bedroll and snuggled under the blanket. Much to his surprise a few minutes later, Thorin padded away from his place beside Dίs and lay down in the empty space between Bilbo and Dwalin, essentially bringing him into the pile of warmth. More comfortable now and grateful that he couldn’t blush in this form, Bilbo was able to drop off.

If nothing else, they should have heard them coming. The forest was silent as they broke camp after a light breakfast of bread and jam. The dwarves were quiet; either they were a very untalkative people or refused to say much in the presence of a stranger. It was slightly disconcerting to Bilbo, who was so accustomed to the chattering of his many relations. To be near this many people and not hear a single conversation? It was quite unusual. Still, even in this silence they did not see the fell wolves until they were upon them.

It was Dwalin’s shout that alerted Bilbo something was wrong. The dwarf walked at the end of their single file line, immediately behind Dίs and the pups. Bilbo, second in line, turned just in time to see a large, snarling wolf with fur as white as pure snow tackle Dwalin to the ground. Dίs went immediately to his aid, pushing her sons away from the fight and subsequently into Bilbo.

“Run,” Thorin instructed as he charged past, catching the wolf in the side with his sword. He put himself between the enemy and the pups, roaring furiously as he entered the fray.

Bilbo caught Kíli’s arm before Fíli could pull him away. “No, boys—here!” He boosted the lad up the nearest tree. Better safe and nearby than getting lost again. Once Kíli was secure and scrambling up to higher branches he gave Fíli a lift as well. “Go, climb as high as you can!”

He didn’t see the second wolf until it had barreled into him. There was a splash of blood against the snow, overlapping shouting and growling as he lost his grip on Fíli. He couldn’t tell if the lad had made it up the branch, could only register the rank breath above him. The shift was instinctual at that point and he twisted away, the changes of his body enough to throw off the wolf above him. He squirmed away from snapping jaws and stared in horror as a bloody sword beheaded the wolf right in front of him.

The silence was so sudden it had Bilbo’s head spinning. He shifted back, barely registering Fíli and Kíli calling from the tree, or even Thorin in front of him, wiping his blade clean on the wolf’s pelt. There were two white bodies splattered in blood, unmoving. They had won, then. It was over almost as soon as it had begun.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said in front of him, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing hard. Why did he have to squeeze so hard? Bilbo looked down, mouth opening in surprise at the sight of his own mangled shoulder. “Can you walk? We need to leave this place.”

He nodded, but made no move to stand up. The pain filtered in through his shock, bright like a searing iron. “Yes… yes, I… I just need-” Thorin’s hand was stained with blood. His blood.

“Nope,” he managed, before fainting dead away.

Chapter Text

Bilbo woke in bits and pieces. His eyelids were too heavy to open at first, so he stretched his toes and opened his ears, surprised to hear a chattering child rather than the whistling of wind or the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. He was covered by a blanket up to his chin, that much he could feel, but there was an unfamiliar weight on his legs. He shifted, wondering if perhaps he had just gone stiff in an uncomfortable position.

“Mister Óin, Mister Óin, I think he’s awake!” The weight on his legs shifted and he pried open his eyes to find that there was a young, auburn haired dwarf at the foot of his bed. He’d clearly been slumped across Bilbo’s calves while he slept, but now he was up and waving to someone across the—tent? Yes, he was in a very large tent, lit here and there by lamps and filled with pallets.

Pallets full of lumps that were presumably people. He squinted in the low light and tried to sit up to see better.

It did not go well.

“Ach, quit that you or you’ll undo the stitches!” A gentle but firm hand pushed him back down and Bilbo had not strength to resist. His head reeled and his shoulder felt like fire. His stomach churned as the moments before he fainted returned. Fell wolves and Thorin, Kíli and Fíli--!

“Where?” The single word gave him trouble as he looked up muzzily to the figure standing over him. It was another dwarf, with a grey beard and moustache that were twisted into two curling braids. The dwarf ignored his question, bending to press an ear horn against Bilbo’s chest, which he noticed suddenly was bare.

“Is Mister Baggins going to be okay?” The young red haired dwarfling that had called for the healer was pressed up against his side, peering worriedly into Bilbo’s face. Bilbo fidgeted and tried to pull away as the healer pulled down one of his eyelids to look better into his eyes.

“Course he is.” A more familiar voice came from his other side and a little hand slid into his own. “Right, Fee? Mister Boggins is gonna be fine, right?”

Kíli was safe, then, and Fíli too from the sound of it. The worried pressure in his chest eased, though the healer kept poking at him.

“Save me from pebbles,” the older dwarf muttered exasperatedly, shooing the dwarflings away to give him some space. Kíli seemed intent upon climbing onto the bed with him. “The halfling is in no immediate danger, which is more than I can say for you lot if you keep getting in my way! Ori, go and fetch his majesty. Fíli, Kíli, get back to chopping those herbs or get out. It’s crowded enough in here without you two making mischief.”

Bilbo assumed that the dwarflings scampered away; he didn’t have the wherewithal to look as the healer all at once heaved him upright, supporting his back and shoulders with one strong arm while the other lifted a cup of water to his lips. Bilbo drank eagerly, desperate to clear the sawdust from his throat.

“Hold this,” the healer said gruffly, pushing the tin cup into his hand before picking up another. “Brace yourself. This one’s not made for taste.”

Despite the warning he choked on the foul liquid, but managed to get it down on the second try, before gulping down more of the water. The healer helped him to lie down again, doing his best not to jostle his bandaged shoulder.

“You did good,” the old dwarf grunted, settling down just outside of Bilbo’s line of sight to change his bandage. “Getting those two out of harm’s way. Haven’t met many folk who’d’ve helped them like you did.”

“You’ve been meeting all the wrong people,” Bilbo murmured.

That got a startled chuckle from the dwarf. “S’pose that could be the case,” he conceded, before securing the bandage and getting to his feet again.

“I want you on two legs for the next couple of days. No weight on that shoulder or you’ll be abed another week. Once you’re up and about, I’ll have a sling fitted for you to keep your arm out the way. Understood?”

“Understood, Mister…?”

“Óin, son of Gróin, at your service.” He bowed in that formal way that seemed a custom to dwarves. Bilbo inclined his head in return. It was the best he could do while laying down.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.”

“Aye, I know that, laddie. Everyone in camp knows your name.” Óin straightened up as someone moved aside the heavy canvas tent flap. “And there’s his majesty now. I’ll leave you to it.”

Bilbo blinked in the half light of the tent, frowning when instead of an unfamiliar dwarf, it was Thorin that came into focus. On his heels was Dwalin, neither of them looking any worse for wear after their encounter with the white wolves. In fact, Thorin looked every ounce a king as he surveyed the tent and strode toward Bilbo’s pallet.

“Master Baggins, you are awake,” Thorin observed once he had reached him. There was a pause—because honestly, what was there to say to that?—before Dwalin elbowed Thorin, clearly encouraging him to go on. “Ah… that is, I was told you had woken. Would you care to walk the camp with me?”

Bilbo turned a pleading gaze toward Óin and was rewarded by the healer’s sigh. “I’ll get that sling for you.”

“Thank you for bringing me here. I know you are loathe to share your secrets with outsiders, but I would be dead without your efforts, there’s no doubt about it.”

“Twice now you have saved my sister-sons, my heirs. It is our custom to reward such brave acts.” Thorin replied gravely. “The line of Durin lives on, due to your quick thinking.”

Bilbo blushed and babbled a bit at such praise. He was only doing what anyone would have done! He could hardly leave the boys to freeze, or to bolt like rabbits and leave them back where this whole encounter had begun.

“We value our children,” Dwalin elaborated, as Bilbo tried to brush off the significance of his actions. “We, more than most. They are few and far between, as only one in three born are dams.”

“So few?” Bilbo asked, boggled by that information. How had the dwarves survived with such low birth rates? “Why it is considered very odd in the Shire for a family to have fewer than three girls! And most have the same number of boys additionally!”

“We must get you well and back to your kin, then,” Thorin said. Óin arrived with the sling and helped to get Bilbo settled wearing it. “Your siblings must be worried.”

Bilbo couldn’t help a wince at that, though he hoped the dwarves would assume it was from the pain of his shoulder. “No, actually. My parents were quite odd in that way. There is only me at home, which is part of what made taking the boys in such an easy decision.”

The boys in question, having apparently tired of their chore, chose that moment to make a break for it. They darted between Thorin and Dwalin, Kíli flinging himself onto the pallet and into Bilbo’s lap with unabashed enthusiasm. Bilbo ruffled his hair with his free hand, grateful for the distraction even if he was jostled quite a bit more than he might have liked.

“Now what is this about your uncle being king, hm?” he asked the lads, a smile on his lips as Fíli settled more sedately near his feet. “You left that out of your introductions, all of you. And to think, my Bag End housed royalty for a time! I’ve a cousin or two who will be quite jealous, dwarves or no.”

“There is naught to be jealous of,” Thorin said in a quiet, but firm voice. “Titles are of little use when my people are spread all across Arda, with no home to speak of.”

“Uncle Thorin is a prince, just like me,” Fíli added, cheered by Bilbo’s teasing nonetheless. “Grandfather is king.”

“A king without a crown, but a king all the same,” Thorin conceded. His expression was pinched, bothered by the subject.

“The line of Durin has lead our people from our conception.” Dwalin put a hand on Thorin’s shoulder, offering him strength. “They lead us now, though we have been chased from our ancestral homes.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo offered, reaching out to cover Thorin’s hand with his own. “I only meant to tease, not dredge up bad memories.”

“These are not just memories, but our reality. You could not have known.” Thorin cleared his throat and made to stand. “My sister suggested I show you the camp.”

Bilbo had expected the dwarven caravan to be just that—a caravan, with wagons and many families, perhaps a hundred dwarves. He expected, from what his grandfather had told him, to see warriors and naught else; a silent army of gruff barbarians.

What he expected could not have been further from the truth.

The dwarves numbered around three dozen and while there were tents and several smaller campfires, there was not a wagon to be seen. Instead, it seemed they bore their belongings on sleds, as Kíli had mentioned. It seemed like a long time ago that the pup had asked about that, though in reality it had been just yesterday.

Families there were, he found, but they were comprised mostly of grown siblings and cousins. According to Thorin, many were related in some way to the line of Durin, though not all.  Bilbo found himself introduced to many more dwarves than he could possibly keep track of. Each welcomed him by name, thanking him for his deeds.

“There are just three children in camp,” Thorin told him as they walked. “Ori, son of Kali, is the third. He comes from a line of seamstresses and tailors; his elder brothers are quite talented in a pinch. They’ve done well to keep our group clothed and warm.”

Bilbo learned very quickly that, though all the dwarves present carried and were capable of using weapons, they were primarily craftsmen, either by trade or necessity. There was pride in Thorin’s voice as he spoke about his people and their work.

“We travel to towns of men to sell our wares,” he explained, pausing by a pair of dwarves who were whittling. Bilbo’s gaze skittered away from the one with a frightening axe embedded in his forehead and looked instead to the small toy that Thorin held. It was an intricately carved frog. Pressing down on the frog caused it to leap into the air, by some tiny, hidden mechanism.

“That’s amazing,” Bilbo breathed, earning him a grin from both the dwarf with the axe and his fellow.

“We have toy-makers, tinkers, tailors…” Thorin passed the frog back to the dwarf and squeezed his shoulder in a friendly manner before leading Bilbo on. “We find work in blacksmithing and building when we can. The world has not been kind to us, but we use whatever we can to earn coin and buy what we cannot make.”

“Thorin,” a white bearded dwarf called as they approached.

“Balin,” Thorin greeted with a nod. He ushered Bilbo forward. “Have you met Master Baggins? He is—“

“Yes, we all have heard of the halfling’s feats,” Balin replied, though it was not unkind. He offered Bilbo a small bow. “Balin, son of Fundin, at your service. If I may borrow Thorin from you, for a  moment?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Bilbo said immediately, taking a step back. He felt badly for monopolizing Thorin’s time. He was their leader; he didn’t need to play escort to an injured hobbit.

As he turned to give the conversing dwarves some privacy, he looked out over the camp. Though his reception had been one of gratitude, there was still wariness in the gazes of many of the dwarves. Bilbo could not blame them. From what he had gathered, they had lost much when the dragon had taken their home and those who should have helped them had not.

No wonder they were untrusting. A dog that had been beaten was slow to approach anything on two legs. The dwarves were not much different. He had a feeling that his reception would have been much frostier if he had not been led around on the arm of the prince.

“There’s no two ways about it,” he heard from Balin behind him. “We’ve hunted what game could be found in these woods and our stores are running low. Many of our wounded still lay abed and cannot travel far, but we will starve if we linger much longer here.”

“The next settlement of men is a week’s travel from here, and the last has had its fill of our wares and services. We would not be welcome back there so soon,” Thorin replied, what cheer that had been in his voice while he spoke of his people’s exploits was gone. He sounded terribly tired. “What would you have me do, my friend?”

Balin sighed in reply and, though they could not see it, Bilbo smiled. He listened a moment more, before turning around and interrupting.

“You’ll just have to come home with me, of course.”

Bilbo was not surprised by the unimpressed looks he received from the dwarves. He was surprised by Fíli and Kíli tumbling out of a nearby bush, shouting “Please, please, please Uncle!” and “We get to go back to Sack End?” respectively.

“Boys, go find your mother,” Thorin told the excited pups, ushering them away. Once they’d gone he turned back to Bilbo with a frown. “Master Baggins…”

“No, I won’t hear of anything else,” Bilbo interrupted, putting up his hand to stop him. “We’ve already been collecting for families in need and ere I left the Thane was speaking of sending to Rivendell for more provisions. We’re a peaceful folk and I’m sure many would welcome your crafts, as well as the protection you could offer. We’ve healers, too, for those who need it, and I’m sure you’d all benefit from getting out of the elements. It’s too cold for younglings and wounded to spend their nights in the snow, especially those who can’t shift.”

He glanced meaningfully down at his injured shoulder, realizing as he spoke that he would be among that number. It would certainly make for a chilly night.

“My people will not freeze or starve,” Thorin said gruffly. “We do not need the charity of—“

“You do, though!” Bilbo stamped his foot. “And it isn’t charity if your warriors guard our borders and your craftsmen offer their wares. You need this, master dwarf, all of you and I won’t let you turn away help and an offer of friendship between our people. We look after our neighbors. My kind are often wary of strangers, but we would look after you as well, I am sure of it.”

For a long minute they stared at one another in a silent battle of wills. Finally Thorin spoke, “Balin will escort you back to the healing tent. I will… I will speak with my people about this idea of yours, but I make no promises.”

Bilbo supposed that was the best he was going to get for now.

Chapter Text

Ultimately Thorin had little choice but to accept the halfling’s offer and hope that his people were kinder than those in the villages of men they had passed through in their journey thus far. He would not, could not sit back and let his people starve and freeze because of his own pride.

Not for the first time in the past year he wished for his father’s guidance. Wishing was of little use when Thrain was on the other side of the continent seeking aid in the distant Orocarni Mountains. It should have been him here, leading them. Would his father have known better? Taken different paths, made different decisions? Would they have been better off?

These invasive thoughts made it even more difficult to lead the dwarrow under his command. Thrain had reasoned that it would be easier for them to find food and work if they traveled in smaller groups. Perhaps he was right. It was astounding enough that Bilbo would consider offering help to three dozen dwarrows; he doubted the halfling would have been as gracious toward twice that number.

As it was, the curious and brave little creature to whom he owed the lives of his nephews (twice over!) was bundled up snuggly in the back of his and Dwalin’s sled. He had given them the heading for Tuckborough before succumbing once again to sleep. Fíli and Kíli were curled in his lap, refusing to leave “their” hobbit.

Though it was unclear how long the journey would take, Thorin estimated that they were making good time. His dwarrows, despite the worsening cold and the pathetic excuse for a meal they had eaten the night before, were as efficient and well organized as always. They had set off early in the morning, before the sun had fully risen over the horizon.

He led the pack at an easy trot, eager to arrive but conscious of the wounded passengers that lay upon a number of the sleds. Óin had prepared them to the best of his ability, but it was still no smooth ride.

“Stop!”

Two halflings appeared at the crest of the gently sloping hill they had been climbing. Thorin slowed to a stop and glanced back toward the sled, where it seemed Master Baggins was stirring. He stepped out of his harness and shifted into his skin as the two unknown halflings approached.

They were well outfitted for the weather, save for their large bare feet. One wore an enormous feather in his hat, which Thorin presumed indicated some sort of status. Indeed, it was that halfling who had spoken, and who raised his voice to speak again.

“These lands are under the protection of the Sherriffs and the Bounders of the Shire, by order of the Thain. State your business! We demand to know what you are doing here, strangers!”

“And what have you done to our kin, Bilbo Baggins?” the other halfling added, his features twisted in determination. Though they held no visible weapons it seemed these two were responsible for the protection of their people. He’d had little idea what Shirriffs and Bounders were, but their words gave some indication.

“I’m here, Drogo,” a voice near his elbow piped up. Master Baggins had slipped away from the sled and plodded forward through the snow, a blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. He stumbled, off kilter with bandages that kept his arm still against his chest, and Thorin was quick to steady him.

“You let him go, dwarf!” Thorin blinked at the venom in the unfamiliar halfling’s voice, guard immediately rising. “You’ve done him enough damage!”

“I have not touched him with ill intent, nor have any of my kin harmed him,” he growled, conscious of the restless dwarrows behind him. He held out a hand to stop Dwalin coming forward to his defense. “Hold your tongue on matters about which you know nothing.”

Before either of the new hobbits could respond, Master Baggins was there, stepping between them, hand raised in supplication.

“Really, Drogo, is that how you greet your neighbors? If these dwarves meant me any harm they wouldn’t have patched me up and escorted me safely back here, would they?” He waited a moment for Drogo to respond and eventually earned a bashful shake of the head. “In any case, these are the dwarves I was looking for. This is Prince Thorin. And these fellows here are Sherriff Rorimac Brandybuck—hello Rory, you’re looking quite well—and my dear cousin Drogo Baggins, a member of the Bounders. They take their duties quite seriously, as I’m sure you can understand.”

With no small amount of effort, Thorin tamped down his temper and met the introductions with a formal bow.

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, at your service.” There was more on the tip of his tongue, fueled by anger at the Bounder’s accusations, but he left it at that. They were seeking aid. It would not do to start a quarrel. To his surprise, he felt Master Baggins give his arm a gentle squeeze. The hobbit shot him a small smile.

“Yes, in fact I think we might happily be at one another’s services indeed. That’s why I think the Thain ought to meet with these dwarves, Shirriff.” He paused and looked back at the pack of dwarrow, most still in their furs and all watching the interaction warily. “Well perhaps not all of them at once.”

Thorin found he agreed, though probably not for the same reason as the hobbit. If these strangers meant them trouble, it would be best if they did not all walk into a trap at once.

“I will come with two others,” he said, before calling Balin and Dwalin over. Both dwarrow approached in their skins, Dwalin with a hardened expression and his brother looking much more neutral.

“Yes, excellent,” Master Baggins agreed. “Is that all right, Rory? Perhaps you can wait here with the rest, while I take our new friends to see grandfather?”

The Shirriff Rory seemed disquieted by the suggestion, but eventually nodded. “Drogo will stay with me. Best to have two, one to run messages if need be.”

Soon it was settled. Thorin left his dwarrows under Dίs’ leadership and the watchful eyes of the two halflings, he and his cousins following the path up over one hill and around to what Master Baggins called The Great Smials.

The Great Smials, as far as Thorin could tell from the outside, were burrows dug into the hills, the tunnels capped by odd round doors. There were few windows, but those he could see shone with firelight and the place had a cheerful air to it. He could smell food before they had even finished their approach and cursed inwardly as his stomach cramped.

Master Baggins led them inside without knocking and Thorin’s eyes widened at the cozy interior of the burrow. It was no molehill, but a well crafted lodge of sorts, wood paneled and furnished with all manner of rugs, cushions and stuffed chairs. Thorin shared a look of surprise with his cousins before quickly turning to follow their host.

They acquired something of a following, a crowd of halflings gathered behind them, enough to make Thorin rest his hand on the hilt of his sword. He did not truly think Master Baggins had bad intentions, but he did not know this crowd of strangers.

Their hobbit host seemed unbothered by their following. He kept up a steady stream of chatter, which Thorin struggled to hear over the noise of many other voices and sounds. The scent of food grew stronger the deeper into the smial they walked. He swallowed, trying to ignore it and feeling a little resentful that these halflings seemed to have so much while his own people had little.

Soon they arrived at what seemed to be a great communal dining hall. There were rows of tables and benches, which quickly filled up with people. One table was arranged perpendicular to the others and that was where Master Baggins led them. A hush fell over the room as the old halfling at the center of the table stood.

“You left with two dwarves and have returned with three more, my grandson. Why have you brought them here?” There was a neutral curiosity in the halfling’s voice that was much more reassuring than the whispers he could hear from the rest gathered in the hall.

“These are the kin of the dwarflings I found,” he said in a clear voice, before introducing them each to the Thain, who was called Gerontius Took. Thorin, Dwalin and Balin bowed in unison as they were presented.

It took a great amount of effort for Thorin to hold his tongue while Master Baggins spoke. The rest of his pack were still out there in the elements, all with empty bellies and some wounded. He hoped this would not take long and that the hobbit would be true to his word. After saving Fíli and Kíli he certainly owed them nothing, but Thorin held on to the hope that they would be lucky for once.

“These dwarves have fallen on hard times,” Master Baggins said, apparently speaking to the entire crowd as well as the Thain. Thorin bit his tongue to quell the shame that rose up in him at hearing his failures spoken of so widely. “And hard times have fallen on us all; I come with news of two more attacks by the Fell Wolves. Though we may be strangers to one another, our people must come together if we are to survive the season.”

Thorin took that as his cue to speak up. “I have warriors as well as tradesmen, but we’ve little shelter or supplies to speak of. We would trade with you and protect your lands; we do not seek charity. Several among us can work as blacksmiths as well. We will offer everything we can in return for… for your assistance.”

Chaos erupted as he spoke, the halflings talking over one another and shouting to be heard. Some cried out in fear of the wolves and the winter, while some railed against the suggestion that they work with dwarrows.

“They’re as dangerous and wild as the wolves themselves!” someone shouted from behind them. “No, they’ve been sent by Eru to protect us!” said another.

Thorin did not turn to look at the crowd, but kept his gaze on Thain Took, who spoke quietly with a few individuals near him. He seemed to be giving instructions, though they were not to quiet the crowd. Though neither he nor the dwarrows spoke, Master Baggins yelled in their defense.

“They are people the same as you and I!”

On and on the shouting seemed to go, only for a sudden quiet to fall over the crowd. A tiny halfling lass had slipped past her guardians and stood now in front of Dwalin. She tugged on his tunic to get his attention and a nervous gasp rippled through the room. All eyes were on Dwalin.

“How come you’ve got no toes?” the little lass asked, gazing up at the fierce looking dwarrow with wide and curious eyes.

“Heather, come here,” a woman hissed, from the edge of the crowd. “Come away from him, quickly now.”

It rankled that they thought any of them would hurt a child. But Dwalin did not cut a reassuring figure, he supposed. Regardless, Heather did not come away at her mother’s insistence. Clearly she was still waiting for an answer.

Much to the surprise of everyone in the room, save the dwarrows, Dwalin immediately sat himself down on the floor. He tugged off his boot and sock before wiggling his toes at the little girl.

“I have,” he told her. “They’re just not so tough as yours. They get cold easy.” The lass grinned and giggled in response, and the tension in the room was broken. The murmurs Thorin could hear seemed much friendlier after Dwalin’s display of gentleness.

Thain Took stood and raised his hands for quiet once more. “We will treat with these dwarves, our neighbors in need. Now let us eat and save the details until after luncheon!”

There was much hustle and bustle as many in the crowd left the room and others began to bring in great trays of food. Thorin forced himself to look away from them and moved closer to the Thain.

“Master Took,” he said, trying to keep his tone polite. It was something of a struggle. “Master Took, I am afraid I must refuse this meal.”

“But Thorin, you haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Master Baggins said loudly in alarm. “None of you!”

His words were met by many horrified gasps

“Yesterday?” some repeated in astonishment. “The poor dears!” others cried. “Quick! Bring in the pies and the roasts!”

It seemed that much of the hostility against himself and his kin had quickly dissipated. Still, Thorin shook his head. “I will not eat while my pack, some wounded, some just pups, wait outside in the snow for your judgment.”

Another startled silence rang through the room. His words had not come out as politely as intended. He averted his gaze, startling slightly when Bilbo squeezed his elbow. His expression was one of reassurance and comfort. Thorin looked up again to the Thain.

“Master Thorin, I had no intention of leaving your company out,” Thain Took said gently. “I am sorry to have given you that impression. You are welcome, all of you, to share in our warmth and our meal. My sons have gone to fetch the Sherriff and your pack. Please, sit down and do not fret so. You are among friends.”

Not ten minutes later he found himself sat at a table laden with food, his nephews and sister on one side, Dwalin and Balin on the other, and across from him, smiling, the hobbit that had made it all happen. For the first time in years, some of the weight on his chest lifted. He wasn’t sure how this arrangement would work out, but he had a feeling that as long as Bilbo had any say, they would be taken care of.

Chapter Text

The meal was a cheerful one, even considering how quiet and wary the Hobbits were of their guests. The Dwarves earned some measure of approval by being very vocal about how much they enjoyed the meal, but for the most part they were left to themselves. Bilbo alone sat with the royal family, eagerly consuming his share of the meal and all the while fielding what questions he could from Fíli and Kíli.

“Let the Hobbit eat,” Dίs chided after a while. “I’m sure we will have to speak with Master Took to determine our arrangements. Let Master Baggins eat.”

“Bilbo,” Bilbo insisted, though he did not argue her other point. He glanced nervously toward the head table, but the Thain was not watching them. He seemed to be speaking with some of his family instead, hopefully making plans. Turning back, Bilbo caught Thorin’s eye. “If nothing else, we will be able to provide you with supplies for a time. I hope Grandfather will see that we need your protection, but at worst we will not turn you away with empty hands or bellies.”

“You did not say when we met that you were also royalty,” Dίs replied for her brother. Both dwarves watched Bilbo with interest, even as he shook his head.

“I’m not. The Shire has no King.” He paused to spear another forkful of potatoes. “My grandfather is the Thain, yes, but he is not our only leader. There’s also the Master of Buckland and the Mayor of Michel Delving. I’m only special because I’m both a Baggins and a Took, the most respectable family and the most adventurous.”

“That’s not the only reason,” Thorin offered quietly. Their eyes met again and Bilbo’s cheeks flushed.

Before he could respond to the dwarf’s comment, there was a sound of outcry from across the room. Bilbo looked over and blinked in surprise to see that several of the dwarves had shifted to their furs, stretching out along the benches. A few rested their heads between the empty dishes on the table and more than one tail swept out from beneath the furniture where others had curled up.

“Well how do you like that?” one of Bilbo’s aunts cried out, hands on her hips.

“Oh no,” Bilbo said, standing quickly. “It’s not—please, my good Hobbits, these dwarves have different ways than our own. I’m sure they mean no insult.”

“Insult?” Several of the dwarves sitting near Bilbo exchanged confused looks. Thorin stood as well, going quickly to speak to the Thain, even as Bilbo hurried over to the offending dwarves.

“I know you are tired my dear fellows,” he began, wringing his hands in worry. “But a Hobbit’s table is no place to nap!” Already he could hear the Hobbits muttering about such a barbaric lack of manners.

“Friends!” Much to Bilbo’s relief the Thain stood to speak, Thorin at his side. “Please, stay your wagging tongues and do not judge our guests poorly for their actions. Prince Thorin has explained to me that in their culture it is an expression of great respect and trust to shift so easily to four paws in another’s home. Who are we to judge the habits of others, when our own habits may seem just as foreign to them?”

This announcement was met with murmurs, though many in the room seemed to agree with the Thain and looked at the dwarves with a friendlier eye. More than one of the dwarves who had shifted quickly turned back, shame-faced and looking worriedly toward their prince. Several did not though, which Bilbo noted unhappily.

“Master Thain has offered the use of his lounges for those who wish to rest. If those of my people who are finished eating or would prefer to wear their furs would follow his son…”

“Isembold,” the Thain gestured to the Hobbit in question, who gave a cheerful wave. “He will show you where you can rest while the rest of your pack finishes eating and we begin negotiations.”

Relieved, Bilbo watched the dwarves file out before heading back to his spot at the table. Before he got there Fíli and Kíli attached themselves to his sides.

“You’re gonna come with us, right?” Fíli asked, both pups looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I had hoped Master Baggins would agree to be present for the negotiations,” Thorin announced, before Bilbo could even begin to deny the boys.

“Nooo,” Kíli whined, tugging at the hem of Bilbo’s shirt. “He wants to come with us though. Tell him, Mister Boggins, tell him you want to come with us.”

“Boys,” Dίs threatened to intervene. Bilbo gave her a conspiratorial smile and crouched down, a little off balance due to the bandages immobilizing his injured shoulder.

“I think I should go with your uncle,” he told Fíli and Kíli gently. “But I have a very important task for you two. Do you remember those sweets my dear Aunt put in your packs? Why don’t you find her so you can say thank you. I’m sure your mother would love to meet her as well.”

Immediately both boys grinned, satisfied with that task. Bilbo had a feeling that Mirabella and Dίs would get on like wildfire. There would be nothing stopping them if they set their minds to a task, which would be quite good. He suspected the dwarves could use all the allies they could get. Not every Hobbit would be as accepting or easy going, even with the Thain’s support.

“That was skillfully handled, Master Baggins,” Thorin murmured as the young dwarves moved away with their mother. Bilbo smiled in return, easily waving off the compliment.

“Please call me Bilbo,” he said again, trying to ignore the flush in his cheeks. Thorin nodded graciously.

When all was said and done, they adjourned to the Thain’s office. Thorin brought with him Balin and Dwalin, while Gerontius asked Rorimac to stand in for the Sherriffs. They were quickly settled with a tea service and soon they were down to business.

It was Balin who spoke first, on behalf of his king. “Thank you for your generosity, Master Thain. As your grandson has told you, we have not had an easy time of late and we truly appreciate this respite in your fine halls.”

“Of course,” Gerontius replied easily. “We would not turn away those in need, not when we have the means to help.”

“Do we have the means?” Rorimac asked. He looked uneasily between the dwarves and Bilbo. “I mean no offense, but the winter has come hard and fast. How can we justify feeding these strangers when some of our own want for food.”

“We would not ask that of you,” Thorin was quick to say, but Gerontius waved him down before Bilbo could even speak up in protest.

“There is enough for all if those with plenty give generously,” he said, before rifling through the desk drawers to pull out a draft of clean parchment. “And, as far as I understand it, you dwarves are willing to offer compensation. Is that correct?”

“What we have in skills, crafts, and wares, we will offer you,” Thorin said with a nod.

“Well I certainly think that we can come to some sort of agreement,” Gerontius replied, smiling in return. Though he had known that his grandfather would not let these dwarves starve, Bilbo was relieved to hear it in no uncertain terms. As the leaders of the two groups began to negotiate, he bowed out to check on the rest of the guests.

~

It took them three days to prepare to clear out of Tuckborough. Three days of negotiations, misunderstandings, and no small amount of food, before all of “Bilbo’s dwarves” had found lodging. He’d apologized profusely to Thorin when that phrase reached him, but the dwarf had just waved one broad hand and indicated that he had not taken offense.

The name stuck, no matter how sternly Bilbo insisted otherwise.

“For the last time,” he groaned, at the sound of a knock at the door. He’d been sorting poorly labeled jams and preserves for the past hour. “Go ask them yourself! I’m not an expert on dwarves!”

The door creaked and, much to Bilbo’s horror, Thorin stepped into the room. His expression was gently amused, lips quirked in a half smile.

“I didn’t—oh bother, I’m sorry to have shouted.” Bilbo buried his face in his hands, trying to cover the flush of red that had risen to his cheeks.

“You may be no expert, but you have certainly been a friend to my kind,” Thorin told him quietly. “Not many others have such a claim. But, if I am disturbing you…” He hesitated, turning back toward the door. Bilbo was quick to dissuade him.

“You aren’t, not at all. I’ve just had so many questions about you dwarves, you see. Even my own family is hesitant to approach you.” He stood, stepping carefully around the piles of jars and ushering the dwarf toward the a chair. “So I am quite happy for some more sensible talk.”

Unless he was much mistaken, Bilbo thought he saw a tint of pink behind Thorin’s well trimmed beard.

“I was hoping you would look over the contract. As a dwarf friend, I trust you will have the best interests of all parties in mind, you see. Not that I do not trust your Thain, but you have a better idea of our ways and values than the others of your kind.”

“I’d be happy to,” Bilbo agreed readily, his heart softening at Thorin’s gentle expression. How quickly it seemed the dwarf had come to trust him. “You’ll be well cared for, I promise.”

“I believe you.”

They spent the next ten minutes sitting in companionable silence as Bilbo perused the contract, making notes here and there about the wording and terms.

“Really, the compensation you’ve agreed on is far too great. Room and board must be complimentary, in return for your border patrols,” he murmured as he reached the last of the terms. It seemed ridiculous for the dwarves to both work for them and pay them.

“That is what your Thain said,” Thorin told him quietly. “But already you’ve done so much for us. Giving us the chance to work to support ourselves, to sell our wares… it is much more than we had dared hope for.”

Bilbo put a hand on the solemn dwarf’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let us do this for your people. We have little need for money; really it would be much more to our benefit to have your building and craft skills. Perhaps we can work out a compromise.”

He began to take notes, hoping that Thorin would agree. If not he would just have to find some way to use his own wealth and full pantries to help the dwarves. Already he had volunteered Bag End to house a good portion of the group.

“There,” he said finally, passing his suggestions over to Thorin with a flourish. “You read that over and take it to the Thain and perhaps we can be off today!”

“Are you eager to return to your home?” Thorin asked, glancing down at the notes briefly before focusing his warm gaze on Bilbo.

“Well, there is a reason I live in Hobbiton! I don’t usually see this much of my relatives. I miss having my own kitchen, you know.” He fiddled with the sling that still held his shoulder immobile. “I was wondering if you would be in the group coming to stay at Bag End? I know your nephews enjoyed their time there, and I was hoping, well…”

He trailed off, feeling that he was being foolish. Thorin had more important things to worry about than pleasing a single gentlehobbit.

He was surprised, then, when Thorin gently took his hand. Bowing low, the dwarf pressed a gentle and whiskery kiss to the back of it. “I’d be honored, Master Baggins.”

Before Bilbo could react, the dwarf had released him again and exited the room. Bilbo was glad that neither Thorin nor anyone else saw the blush that crept up to the tips of his ears. Really! What a fool he was for flushing so at a display of courtly manners. Thorin probably meant nothing by it. Oh, blast these dwarves and their curious customs!