AN: Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry for the long wait _ I got a new job and things went a little crazy… But here's the next one!

Ori

Ori enjoyed the journey well enough so far. He made friends, experienced things that he would never have experienced in his books or in the library and most importantly, he got to write it all down. And that was what mattered to him in the end. Or so he thought when he first started this journey.

For Ori, becoming a scribe had been his lifelong goal ever since he first saw a book. The cursive letters had beckoned to him; the gold leaf decorations entranced him. And that had been before he knew how to read. Once he was able to read Westron, he started reading books Nori brought him from the cities of Men. His older brother probably had a full time job trying to keep up with his insatiable hunger for more books. And it didn't matter what it was. Novels, history books, herbal guides; he read anything he could get his hands on. When he was old enough to begin learning the sacred language, he threw himself into his studies with a passion that none of the tutors could claim to have seen before.

When he finally passed the exams, the first thing he did was visit the library. It wasn't restricted to people in so much that they weren't allowed access, but one needed to be in ownership of certain paperwork. Paperwork showing that you had passed your language exams, as well as a clean record. Those who had disrespected the content of the library or caused disturbances would get marks. Ori's card was spotless even now.

Life at home was rarely ever dull. Even with his ability to read and write he still needed to be sponsored before a Master would take him on as an apprentice. And that cost money. While Dori worked his behind off in both his Tea Shop and the sowing he did on the side, Ori had gotten several day jobs himself. He ran notes from one end of the city to another, using back alleys and shortcuts that Nori had taught him. He worked at a laundry house, cleaning and hanging sheets until his hands were wrinkly with water, but he was allowed to bring home soaps and abandoned sheets every now and then, so it wasn't bad. And whenever Nori came home, he'd bring a little extra cash for the saving jar.

And that was what made him even more determined to get to where he wanted to get. Dori and Nori both worked for him to get here. Every single penny they made that didn't go into the household went into a jar.

Eventually it had been both his ability and Nori's profession that had gotten him a Master.

His middle brother had been preparing for a heist, though as usual he only told Ori. Dori didn't like knowing what Nori did to bring in the money, as long as he didn't get himself injured or arrested – that one time had been interesting, if not for the fact that when Nori entered the home he only had one cracked rib and when Dori kicked him out he had two; Dori was beside himself when he figured it out and ran into the street half naked to get Nori back. Ori might have waited until Dori was getting ready for his bath to mention the broken bones – he didn't fight him too much. When Nori took off through the window that night, Ori had waved him goodbye with a smile and crossed fingers. But when Nori wasn't back two days ago, he was worried and no longer smiling.

When Dwalin knocked on their front door that third morning, Ori thought that he was there to tell them Nori was gone. Instead, the gruff man had asked him if he was Ori, son of Vestri. If someone asked him now, he would probably tell them he bravely lift his chin up and answered in a steady voice: "Aye, I am he.". In reality, he had whimpered and all but hid behind the nearest object in the living room which happened to be a rather tiny vase.

Dwalin had given him one look, rolled his eyes and beckoned his brother in. Balin was a lot kinder looking and his presence admittedly soothed the poor youngster they had barged in on. Ori had finally managed to offer them both some tea – though Dwalin had declined – and sat down with them at the kitchen table. It was there that he learned that Nori had indeed been captured. But also that he had been captured leaving things, rather than stealing them. When Balin pulled out a leather satchel containing dozens of Ori's drawings and copies of work, Ori had turned a shade of red that made Smaug look pasty before promptly passing out.

Of course that had been the moment Dori picked to come rushing in, waving his broomstick like crazy and actually managing to smack Dwalin in the head before Balin calmed him down. When things had settled and Ori had come too, Balin told him that it would be a most unusual start, but that he would see Ori become his apprentice if the aspiring scribe would be so inclined. He was very young and gifted; his talents would be wasted elsewhere.

Dori eventually forgave Nori. Eventually.

The first time he heard about the quest, he had been in the very same library he had often visited when he was barely forty. The young dwarf had such dreams about his future then, but nowhere could he have ever thought to become apprenticed to Lord Balin. And when he was stood in one of the back rows, trying to find a map of Rohan, he had heard Balin speak with another elderly dwarf.

The portents had spoken. Smaug was dead. Erebor ready for the taking.

The very second Balin had mentioned even the slightest thing to him he had signed up. And it had been amazing so far. Absolutely overwhelmingly amazing. But it had also been terrifying. Now that he was in Rivendell, it seemed so far away, yet mere hours ago he had been running for his life.

Pure terror. Nori ran behind him, he thought. Dori in front of him. He remembered the light illuminating Dori's mythril coloured braids. Bifur panting to his right and Thorin leading them, urging them on. Vaguely he remembers sending rocks into the eyes of the warg that had lunged for Fili when the prince had been fending off another beast with his blades, but he wasn't sure how they had ended up all crowding together.

And somehow he couldn't help but think about those poor ponies. They'd probably be eaten, just like them. His hands shook as he launched another rock into the fray, dislodging an orc. Nori's shape to his right gave him hope. They were all still alive. And even though he was scared out of his wits, he ensured to keep breathing like Mister Dwalin had always told him to do. Breathe and aim. Shoot, move on to next target and repeat.

When Bofur had pushed him into the hole that Gandalf had discovered, he had nearly wept with relief. Nearly. This was not his first fight. Nor his second. And just because he wasn't an experienced warrior per se, he wasn't allowed to collapse into a blubbering mess either. So he kept himself together and he moved on.

Thankfully he had Rivendell to distract himself. Because no matter how grumpy it made Thorin and Dwalin, or how hostile some of their party acted, Ori loved it. The architecture, the waterfalls, it was beautiful and magical to him and he hadn't even touched the library yet. With a small smile he pushed away from the balcony.

Tomorrow he would.

-|-l -|-

Bilbo

As he finally relaxed into the hot bath the Elves had drawn for him, Bilbo mused about the events that had taken place this past month. While it wasn't unusual for him to go off into the Wild every now and then, this manner of doing so was completely unknown to him. And he had to admit that he had been terrified on more than one occasion. When the bandits came, he feared for the lives of his companions. Not because he knew them that well, or even because they were friends.

No. Resting his head on the back of the tub he realised that he had feared because he wasn't friends with them. And he would like to be. While they were uncouth, rude and boisterous, he saw people that he could become great friends with. And that didn't happen too often.

Bilbo wasn't ignored or orchestrated in the Shire as much as that he simply didn't find a connection with any of his fellow Hobbits. They appreciated different things, far simpler and baser things than he did. Oh, he loved his food and drink as much as any Hobbit. He enjoyed seeing flowers bloom and fruit swell with the promise of flavour. But more than that, he loved to take Myrtle to the open plains and gallop until both he and the mare were panting for breath. He loved being under the open sky, to see the horizon and know that it wasn't the limit. To know that he could go beyond it if he so chose.

Bilbo loved the smells of the forest surrounding him with their heavy pines and dew still fresh on their leaves. The thrill of hunting a deer, stalking through the trees without sound until he finally caught it. The odd feeling of belonging he found when sitting around a campfire with his Ranger companions or even with the dwarves. And he wanted to be accepted by them.

When they first met him, he knew they were surprised by him. They had expected him to be a Hobbit such as those they had met along the road. And while he shared most of his blood with his Took cousins, he knew that even they thought him odd. So when they had met with a rather aloof and distant Bilbo with his appropriate clothes and his ponies and his unexpected skill with his weapons of choice, they had been rather justly shocked.

On his part, Bilbo hadn't wanted to treat them as coldly as he had, but he had been nervous and frankly more than a little intimidated. He didn't like being sprung upon like this within the safety of his own home and he had sought comfort behind a mask – and behind Myrtle, but no one needed to know that – and watched them. He liked what he saw.

Dwarves seemed to value a lot of the things he himself valued as well. Good food, good company and good stories. They held family very close to their heart. He saw this whenever he saw them interact with brothers and cousins. And while he might not be a great warrior, he knew he had impressed more than one of them with his own skills. And he was glad for it.

For he wanted that acceptance. Craved it so much that it made him curl up a little tighter at night.

He rejoiced when Nori sought him out for a hushed chat at night. When Ori pulled his pony over to walk next to Bilbo's. He loved sharing some of his herb seasonings with Bombur and the way the other's face lit up when he did. The feeling of being included more and more increased with every passing day. Bifur often gave him a pleasant smile and a look of growing respect. Bofur had gotten closer to him. Fili. Kili. Even Balin and Oin enjoyed speaking with him about both his experiences and his herbal knowledge.

Only Dwalin and Thorin were still distant, for all that Dwalin had grudgingly given him advice on his fighting. The warrior didn't mind speaking to him, but they had no real connection. As for the future King…

Bilbo winced when his head dropped back a bit too harsh. Did he really want to think about Thorin? His eyes flickered up and studied the ceiling. It was beautiful, as most everything in Rivendell was. He enjoyed staying in this city. Always did. But he remembered the betrayed look Thorin had given him when he greeted Elrond like the old friend that he was. When he had switched to his not quite fluent Sindarin to speak with the Elf Lord about his journey.

Of course he knew they would end up here. The second the warg howls had been upon them he knew that their best bet would be the Hidden Valley. In fact, he had prayed with all of his heart that they would make it. Because he refused to let anything happen to those that were slowly but surely worming their way into his heart. So he forced himself to run faster. To attack, duck, weave and call out warnings when he needed to. He had covered Dori's back for a moment, then Dwalin's. He was fast, but his heart had been beating in his throat, eyes wide open as if scared that he would miss something and one of their own would fall.

'Do not let fear be your master, but do not ignore its presence either.' His mother had always said. And he learned to accept that. Had taught himself that the best thing to do in the face of fear was move his body, either away from the threat or towards it if he could end it. He didn't freeze up more than half a second these days. That had possibly been what saved him when a giant warg had nearly been on top of him and he threw himself to the side before rolling over and sticking it with the pointy end of the Elvish blade he held.

It wasn't difficult for him to sag with relief when he laid eyes on Rivendell at long last. What had been difficult was dealing with Thorin. The older dwarf had been tense and on edge since that very moment. His usually gruff demeanour had soured even more, even leading him to snap at his nephews with a glower that had both princes scurrying away. And Bilbo had, for some odd reason, borne the brunt of his glares ever since, as if it had been his actions that led them here. And if that feeling hurt him, he refused to acknowledge why that might be.