Title: Blast It All

Author name: Triola

Category: Romance

Sub Category: Humour

Summary: In which Gandalf finds a cave, the Dwarves show some skin, Thorin is annoying, and Bilbo curses the world. Bagginshield oneshot.

Disclaimer: Do not own.

Author notes: I blame tumblr. I really do. There I was, innocently searching for pictures of Richard Armitage, when bam, all aboard the SS Bagginshield, we leave at once, no return! So here I am, sailing a doomed ship, cursing at the gods and my own stupidity, and trying to keep all the really awful Titanic references to myself (I'll never let go, Thilbo, I promise!). But yes, let's enjoy it while we can, fluff to the people!

Warning: Mild slash

"Blast this rain," Bilbo muttered, wiping at his nose as another river of water made its way down his face from his soaked through hair. "Blast it all." He pulled at his coat, trying to wrap it tighter around himself in a futile attempt to garner some warmth, but the sodden fabric wouldn't budge. "'Come have an adventure, Bilbo,'" he grumbled in a poor imitation of Gandalf's voice. "'It will be good for you, Bilbo. See the world, experience new things.' Well, we have rain in the Shire too, Gandalf, and roofs to cover our heads from it!" He glared sullenly at the wizard walking together with Thorin Oakenshield at the front of their column. They were talking with serious faces, Gandalf bent down to hear the words of the Dwarven king over the noise of the storm raging around them. Gandalf probably didn't even mind the rain, he had that big hat to shield him from the deluge. Bilbo wiped at his nose again. "Blast this rain," he muttered again. "Blast it, blast it, blast it. And blast Gandalf too," he sent the wizard another glare for good measure.

"Did you say something?" Bofur was walking in front of Bilbo and he turned around to glance quizzically at the Hobbit.

"Yes," Bilbo said, stopping suddenly. "Yes, yes I did. I said blast it. Blast it all!"

Bofur gave him a strange look. "Blast it?"

"Yes! Blast it! Blast the rain, blast Gandalf, and blast this adventure! Blast it!" He glared at the Dwarf in front of him. Bofur had a hat too, the traitorous wally.

The other Dwarves were starting to notice that Bilbo had stopped walking, and they looked back to see what the commotion was about. Balin had been walking right behind Bilbo and he put his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "Now, Bilbo," he said gently, looking down at the fuming Halfling. "It's just a bit of rain."

"A bit of rain? A bit of rain?" Bilbo started laughing hysterically. It had been raining for days, every item in his possession was soggy with water and he felt as if he would never ever be dry again. His clothes were wet, his spare clothes were wet, the bread he'd had for breakfast had been wet. Everything was wet around him and Balin called this a bit of rain? He clutched his walking stick and laughed until he became unsure whether he was laughing or crying, all he knew was that at some point he had started hiccupping, and somehow that was funny too.

Suddenly Bilbo became aware that all the Dwarves were standing around him and that Gandalf was looking down on him from beneath the brim of his hat. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?" He asked, looking around the group.

"Our Burglar's gone off the deep end," Kili commented, scratching his chin.

"I have not!" Bilbo protested furiously. "I was merely saying 'blast it'. I am wet, and tired, and every part of my body hurts, not to mention that I am really really wet, so I was saying blast it. Blast it all!"

Bofur nodded. "It is true. 'Blast the rain, blast Gandalf, and blast this adventure', to be precise," he added helpfully, earning himself a glare from Bilbo.

"That is not… I was not…"

"Yes, you were," Kili supplied, as useful as Bofur in his commentary.

"Ah." Gandalf nodded sagely and glanced at Thorin. "Perhaps it is time we found shelter for the night?" He suggested lightly, stroking his beard.

Thorin frowned, his jaw set stubbornly beneath his dark beard. "Gandalf, I told you, I will not let anything slow us down." Bilbo looked up at the Dwarf king and frowned. It didn't take extraordinary intellectual powers to figure out who 'anything' was in this scenario.

"If we rest tonight, we will cover more ground tomorrow with our renewed energy," the wizard said reasonably. "Besides, I do not think the rest of our company would mind the respite," he added, looking around the group of travellers. They looked a scraggly bunch in their soaked garments, rain running though hair and beard alike, making them all look unflatteringly like drowned rats.

Thorin surveyed his fellowship, his eyebrows raised. "Well?" He said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The Dwarves looked at each other, then between Thorin and Bilbo, then back at each other.

"Well," Glóin stated at last. "I wouldn't mind a bit of a sit down."

"Get out of this rain," Óin nodded, wiping water from his eyes.

"Have a bite to eat," Bombur added, looking longingly at the provisions Dori was carrying.

"Aye, light up a fire so I can dry my undergarments," Dwalin rumbled.

"Have a cup of mead."

"Rebraid my beard."

"A full night's sleep."

"In a dry spot!"

The other Dwarves soon chimed in with their opinions and Gandalf smiled in his beard, nodding to himself. "I know of a cave not far from here," he said noncommittally, looking at Thorin.

The Dwarf king's expression had gotten more and more surly as Dwarf after Dwarf expressed their opinion, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. "Very well," he said gruffly, sending Bilbo an irritated look before turning around to stalk in the direction Gandalf was pointing.

Bilbo felt the force of those piercing blue eyes long after their owner had walked away, and he sighed a little. His outburst was not likely to make him more popular with their almighty leader. Oh well, he thought, squaring his shoulders. It was like his Uncle Bingo always said, you could be the best batch of Southfarthing pipe-weed ever grown, but there was still going to be some Brandybuck out there who didn't like the smell of smoke.

Gandalf led them down a canyon, following a dried-out stream bed until they reached a bank where large boulders had broken off from the top of the canyon and lay scattered against the cliff wall. "Let me see," he mumbled, lifting his staff and starting to tap it against the wall and on nearby boulders. "It should be here somewhere." He kept muttering to himself, hitting seemingly random patterns against the rocks with his staff and whispering the occasional Elvish word.

Bilbo huddled against a moss covered boulder, hoping to find some shelter between the rock and the wall from the unrelenting rain. Not for the first time he wondered about the sanity of the wizard.

"Edro!" Gandalf called, whacking a particularly large boulder with his staff as he repeated the request. "Edro! Amin merna vara tel' Seldarine! Edro!" When nothing happened he grumbled and whacked the rock once more for good measure.

Thorin looked at the wizard's antics with an expression that grew darker by the minute. "Gandalf…" he started, but the other man cut him off.

"Not now, Thorin, this needs concentration." He looked around the river bank, stroking his beard. "I could have sworn…" he muttered before his gaze landed on Bilbo and his eyes lit up. "Ah, Bilbo, my dear Hobbit! That is it! Well done, well done!"

Bilbo looked up in confusion as Gandalf hurried over to the boulder he was leaning on and pulled off the worst of the moss, revealing faint etchings in the stone.

"Splendid, yes, very well done!" Gandalf smiled down at him before tapping the rock with his staff and repeating the Elvish phrase from earlier. The marks on the boulder suddenly started glowing pale blue, and the big rock rolled slowly away as if pushed by an invisible force. On the cliff wall behind it, a narrow crevice was revealed, barely large enough for Gandalf to squeeze through. He didn't seem concerned however, but called for the company to follow him inside. "Do not worry," his voice echoed cheerily from within the cliff. "There is a bit of a tunnel first, but it opens up as you get further inside!"

Bilbo watched as the Dwarves spilled into the cave mouth, each of them brushing past him in their hurry to get out of the rain. Thorin came last, and Bilbo felt a brief stab of envy. He had seen himself in his mirror back at Bag End after running through half the Shire during one of last year's April showers, and it was not a pretty sight. His hair was plastered to his head in wet curls, his face red and blotchy from the wind and rain, and his nose running. Thorin, however, looked like he'd just had a voluntary bath, his long hair slicked back in a thick, dark river that currently shone with blue highlights in the glow from the etchings on the rock. It looked satiny and lustrous, nothing like the scraggly mess on top of Bilbo's own head. The Hobbit gave a small sigh and started when he noticed that Thorin did not follow the others into the cave, but stopped to stare at him in turn.

"You wanted out of the rain, Burglar," the Dwarf king said gruffly, and Bilbo felt himself wince. The implication was clear: he was the reason they had chosen to stop, he should get his arse inside and be grateful.

"Yes, thank you," he mumbled quickly, and hurried in the opening before Thorin. Gandalf had been right, at first the crevice led to a tunnel not much wider than the opening itself, but it soon widened and Bilbo found himself standing in a large stone hall with smooth walls, the ceiling so high two men of Gandalf's stature could have stood on top of each other and still not reached it. The wizard's staff lit up the cave for now, but he could see that Ori and Nori were already working on starting a fire. The other Dwarves had taken off their packs and Dori was rummaging through his for provisions for dinner.

Bilbo suddenly felt something bump into him from behind and he jumped into the room. He had completely forgotten about Thorin coming after him!

The King under the Mountain gave him a glare and a push as he passed by him into the cave. "Blasted Hobbit, stopping right inside the entrance, blocking the way for everyone else," the Dwarf muttered, walking over to join Balin by the cave wall.

Bilbo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It seemed he couldn't do anything right today. He walked over to Gandalf and deposited his backpack on the floor, giving off a small groan as his tense shoulders finally found relief from the burden. "What is this place?" He asked the wizard, using both hands to rub at the base of his neck.

"This is an old Traveller's Den," Gandalf said, looking around the cave. "There are a few of them scattered around Middle Earth, safe places for travellers to spend the night. Anyone who knows the password can access them."

"And what is the password?" Bilbo wondered, curious.

"Edro," Gandalf chuckled. "It means simply 'open', in the Elven tongue."

"Ah," Bilbo smiled. "And are they all caves like this one? The Dens?"

"Caves, yes. Well, mostly. Some elaborate Dwarven halls, some natural caverns like this one, and others little more than hollows in the ground. But they are protected by friendly magic, and provide safety for the night." He lifted his staff and surveyed the space around them. "We were lucky with this one. Very spacious. There are even two smaller caves further in," Gandalf said, pointing to a dark patch on the wall to their left, which on Bilbo's inspection turned out to be a tunnel leading further into the mountain. "And the last traveller to sojourn here was generous enough to leave firewood for the next visitor, so we have both dry kindling and logs to fuel the fire throughout the night."

Bilbo saw that he was right. Close to the entrance, there was a big pile of firewood, enough to last several nights should they for some reason choose to stay. Bilbo quickly squashed the longing he felt. Thorin would never let them rest more than one night in one place, they were on a quest after all.

He saw that Ori and Nori had already helped themselves to a generous amount of firewood and had the beginnings of a hearty fire started inside the charred circle of stones placed near the back of the cave, and he hurried over to see if there was anything he could do to help. He was the one who had forced them to stop for the night, the least he could do was make sure the others got some rest out of it.

"Here, I can do the cooking tonight," he volunteered, picking up the pan that stood next to the fire and offering the two Dwarves a smile.

"Oh, nonsense," Nori said gruffly. "Bombur can cook, the bunion-brained laggard."

"Ey!" Bombur yelled from where he was sitting besides his pack, chewing on a piece of dried meat.

Bilbo laughed. "I don't mind. And I make a rather scrumptious stew, if I can say so myself," he added, giving the pan in his hands a little twirl for emphasis. That turned out to be a bad idea, as it were, because he lost his grip on the pan and it met the ground with a great clang that echoed through the cave. Bilbo cursed and bent down to pick it up again, his face flushed in embarrassment.

"Halfling!" Thorin barked from where he was conversing with Balin. "Put that pan down before you end up hurting someone." He glared at Bilbo. "Bombur, you're in charge of dinner."

"Aye, Chief," Bombur put down his snack and struggled to his feet, scratching his stomach.

Bilbo frowned and held the pan closer to his chest. "No, now wait a minute," he argued, looking at Thorin. "I can do it."

Thorin just looked at the pan in his arms and raised an eyebrow, and Bilbo felt himself flush again.

"I can," he insisted stubbornly. "I've been living on my own for years, I am perfectly capable of cooking a meal."

The Dwarf king brushed him off with a disparaging glance. "You will more than likely burn either yourself or the meal, and while the former is merely inconvenient, the latter is unacceptable right now. Bombur will cook." He turned around as if that was the end of the conversation, and Bilbo spluttered in indignation. He hadn't burnt food since the celebration of his cousin Drogo's wedding, when he'd attempted to make second supper for himself after one too many half-pints of beer and had fallen asleep next to the stove. And that was more than ten years ago, thank you very much. He told Thorin as much, in as dignified a voice as he could muster.

The Dwarf gave him an inscrutable stare, and Bilbo glared back, his jaw set stubbornly. "Suit yourself," Thorin said after what seemed like an eternity and moved back to Balin with a dismissive turn.

Bilbo felt himself sag down as the tension eased out of him and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hobbits weren't made for confrontations, he reasoned to himself as his fingers played along the edge of the pan he held against his chest. That was why the stare-down seemed to take so much out of him; it had nothing to do with Thorin's piercing blue eyes. He looked up as Dori came over to him with the provisions and busied himself with preparing the food. And if he glanced up at the dark-haired Dwarf across the cavern now and then, it was only to make sure the king wouldn't intervene in his cooking again. Nothing else.

The smell of dinner was soon wafting through the cavern, and Bilbo deemed his creation ready for serving. He poured fourteen sizeable portions and served the others before helping himself to a bowl. The stew wasn't much, but it tasted nicely of smoked ham, onions and potatoes, and it filled the stomach like nothing else. As he ate, Bilbo surveyed the room. Kili and Fili were telling some story to Ori that involved a lot of colourful descriptions and animated hand gestures. Óin had opened his shirt while he ate and was scratching his chest with vigour, while Bofur and Bombur were engrossed in a serious discussion about the merits of spring onion in a stew. Thorin was talking quietly to Gandalf, and Bilbo found himself straining to hear what they were talking about.

"You shouldn't..." Half of Gandalf's sentence made its ways to Bilbo's ears as the wizard looked seriously down at the Dwarf king. "He isn't... but trying... be more courteous."

Thorin's expression was sullen and he waved his spoon aggressively at Gandalf as he talked. "Not my fault... utter fool..."

It was beginning to dawn on Bilbo that he might be the topic of their conversation, and he felt bad for listening in, but that didn't stop him from continuing.

"... try," said Gandalf, looking stern. "... all I ask... might be surprised."

Thorin grumbled and got to his feet, moving to sit next to Balin who was more than happy to involve him in the conversation. Bilbo looked away with a snort. Horses would fly before Thorin Oakenshield treated him with anything other than contempt.

He finished his stew in silence, then collected the bowls from the finished Dwarves and stacked them near the entrance. He'd done his part of the evening's work, some other willing soul could have the task of venturing outside to clean the bowls in rainwater. Rubbing his stomach, Bilbo walked over and sat down by his backpack. After rummaging through the side pockets, he located his pipe and his stash of Old Toby, but he quickly realised that the tobacco was as soaked as the rest of his pack and wouldn't be smokeable any time soon. Greatly annoyed, Bilbo folded his hands over his chest and blew his now nearly dry hair out of his eyes. He was not in the gods' favour today, he noted grumpily to himself, and the sentiment was only confirmed when he saw that Thorin was making his way over to his corner of the cave. Bilbo closed his eyes and prayed for patience as the other man sat down next to him.

Thorin cleared his throat and Bilbo opened his eyes again, looking wearily over at the other man. "Yes?" He sighed, mentally preparing himself for another tongue-lashing.

"It occurred to me," Thorin said gruffly, his eyes unreadable beneath his dark brows. "It occurred to me, that you have joined our company and our fight, yet you do not know what it is you are fighting for."

Bilbo frowned. "What do you mean? Of course I do. We are fighting the dragon Smaug for the treasure of Erebor."

"Not just for the treasure," Thorin responded, unconsciously touching the pocket where he kept the key to the hidden door. "But for Erebor itself, the Kingdom under the Mountain."

Bilbo nodded. "Yes, I know this," he said, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"But has anyone ever told you of Erebor?" The Dwarf asked quietly, his face grave.

"Not much," the Hobbit admitted, understanding dawning. "I know it is a city of sorts, inside the mountain."

"More than a city, Halfling. A Kingdom." Thorin's eyes turned distant as he spoke about the home of his youth. "There are doors at the foot of the mountain, so tall ten trolls standing on each other's shoulders could walk through with their backs held straight and the strength of a hundred Dwarves was needed to make them open. They led to a chamber so large no eye could see its roof, with pillars carved from the mountain itself and decorated with veins of silver. The floor was made of the many different coloured rocks of the mountain, pure white marble, rose coloured quartz, dark green slate. Many believe the mountain to be grey and colourless, but that is far from the truth. It vibrates with colour." The Dwarves around them had stopped their conversations now and were listening to Thorin, nodding their agreement.

"Beyond the entrance hall lies the throne room where the King of the Mountain sat on a giled throne atop a platform, suspended by beams of stone and iron above an abyss that reaches down into the heart of the mountain. Ores of gold run through the walls of the room, and stone stairs and pathways cross and interweave across the chasm, connecting the different levels of the mountain beneath the seat of the king." Thorin stopped to look at his audience, and Balin took that as his cue to continue.

"The Kingdom of Erebor, Mr. Baggins, has so many floors and levels it would take a lifetime to explore them all," the old Dwarf said gravely, humming a little as he stroked his beard. "There are tunnels and hallways reaching through every part of the mountain, from the highest shelves, to the deepest hall. There was work being done, day as night, mining the ores and searching for gems. Wagons filled with precious metals were pulled by donkeys through the tunnels, to the melting pots, the smiths and the lapidaries."

"There were houses in the mountain walls," Dori reminisced, his face sombre. "Complete with doors, rooms, hallways and stairs. Chimneys led the smoke from our hearths and out of the mountain in an intricate system of narrow air channels."

"My family lived in Dale, the city at the foot of the mountain," Óin chimed in. "We lived peacefully together with the Humankind, providing them with materials for their houses and gold for their purses, while they provided Erebor with grain, meat and vegetables. The city was built entirely on the stone of Erebor, brick houses and stone palaces with slate roofs and gold leaf gilding. Every day the market place hummed with life, and Dwarf and Man alike sold their wares to any interested customer."

Thorin nodded and looked at Bilbo with his piercing, blue eyes. "And beneath it all, in the lowest chambers of the mountain, a treasure so great it would make a strong man cry." He closed his eyes for a brief second before fastening his gaze on Bilbo once more. "Do you understand, Halfling?" He asked, his voice grave and tinged with yearning. "Do you understand what you are fighting for?"

Bilbo returned the gaze and swallowed, before nodding slowly. "A kingdom," he said, his voice breaking slightly, making him stop to clear his throat before continuing. "A kingdom and a home."

A flash of what looked to be surprise dashed across Thorin's face, but he quickly regained his composure and gave Bilbo a nod of satisfaction. "As long as you know," he said gruffly and got to his feet, straightening his belt. He went back to his spot next to Gandalf, looking at the wizard as if to say 'I do know how to be courteous.' Bilbo noticed, but his head was filled with images of long forgotten Dwarven halls, and he found he didn't really mind that Thorin was only trying to prove something to Gandalf.

Bilbo's stew had done the trick of warming the company from the inside, but their clothes were still soaked through, making it hard to rid themselves of the chill they'd all acquired walking through the rain. After huddling ineffectively around the cookfire for a while, Fili had the rather genius idea to light more fires, and soon there were four large campfires burning lustily throughout the cave. Dwalin then produced two lengths of rope and strung them between two sections of the cave wall, passing by one of the fires.

"We can hang our clothing to dry," he said gruffly, and was quickly commended for his domestic spirit. He answered by a number of very rude hand gestures.

However, the Dwarves wasted no time ridding themselves of wet clothing to hang across Dwalin's makeshift clothes line. Soon they were all lounging about bare-chested in their long, wool undergarments, some of which were so threadbare Bilbo could barely recognize their original colour, let alone understand how they were still hanging together in one piece. Even Gandalf took off his long, grey robe, revealing a thinner robe beneath it that looked miraculously untouched by the rain.

Bilbo played nervously with the hem of his shirt. He had willingly removed his coat, and even the green vest when prompted, but the shirt and the breeches were staying on, thank you very much. Showing that much skin around others... it wasn't proper!

"Sure you don't want to dry the rest, Burglar?" Bifur called from where he'd been hanging his own breeches over the fire. "There's a spot over here, just the size of a Halfling blouse!" He motioned to a small sliver of rope visible between two garments.

"No, thank you, I am quite sure," Bilbo called back, smoothing down the shirt in question. "And it's a shirt, not a blouse."

"It's dainty looking."

"It is not!" Bilbo protested, spluttering. "It's a regular, white shirt!"

"Exactly, it's a white shirt," Bifur said, as if that settled the matter. "Never seen a white shirt that wasn't a blouse before." He turned to Glóin. "Did you ever see a white shirt that wasn't a blouse before?"

Glóin seemed to ponder the question for a while, stroking his beard. "No, can't say I ever did," he replied. "Definitely a blouse," he said sagely, nodding at Bilbo.

Bilbo harrumphed. "Insufferable Dwarves," he muttered, causing Bifur and Glóin to grin broadly. He rolled his eyes and walked over to sit next to Gandalf, who to Bilbo's envy seemed to have no problem with sodden pipe-weed. He was huffing happily away on his briarwood pipe, painting fanciful stories in the air with the smoke. Bilbo thought he could see a ship, but it soon turned into a soaring eagle flying through a sequence of three wavering smoke rings. As a child he'd never questioned Gandalf's uncanny ability to make smoke mirages, but as he'd grown older and only ever managed a faint circle himself, he'd soon surmised that either the wizard was cheating, or Bilbo was a pilfering Bracegirdle from Hardbottle. And he certainly wasn't, which meant Gandalf was definitely using magic to enhance his smoke-shaping skills.

He sat down on the rock next to the wizard, breathing in the sweet smell of the Longbottom Leaf he knew Gandalf preferred. The four fires had quickly warmed the cavern, and the Dwarves were now lounging comfortably around in more or less relaxed states. Fili sat with his back to the wall while his brother braided his hair in intricate patterns. Nori was showing Bofur a hole in the crotch of his longjohns, stating that after a long day of travelling, there was nothing as refreshing as a gentle draft to your private parts. Everywhere Bilbo looked, there were half-naked Dwarves, their bare chests glistening with a sheen of sweat in the light from the fireplace.

Bilbo didn't know where to look, so he fastened his gaze on Gandalf, who was thankfully still clad in his inner robe. "Are Dwarves always this..." he hesitated, searching for the right word.

"Immodest?" The wizard suggested lightly, blowing a ring from his pipe. Bilbo nodded. "Well, yes."

Bilbo frowned. "It isn't very... proper."

"Why not?" Gandalf looked down at him from underneath his bushy brows.

"All this... nudity," Bilbo said, waving his hand in the general direction of the rest of their company. "It's not done. Have they no shame?"

Gandalf smiled a little and stroked his beard. "No," he said honestly. "Should they? Do you think they have something to be ashamed of?"

Bilbo started and blinked up at Gandalf. "Oh, no! Of course not. That's not what I meant! I just..." He bit his lip and looked away.

"I know what you meant, Bilbo," the wizard said kindly. "Hobbits are in many ways a well-behaved people, and you value your privacy and what you deem to be seemly public behaviour. Dwarves are different, they do not concern themselves with manners in the same way. But keep in mind, that does not make them inferior, just dissimilar."

Bilbo nodded, a little ashamed of himself. "I will remember that," he said, looking at Gandalf before forcing himself to observe his fellow companions. The blatant nudity still made him blush in embarrassment. The Dwarves were all larger than him, and their stocky build lent them broad chests and large arms, as opposed to Bilbo's own leaner, yet somewhat soft and chubby stature. Although there were differences between the Dwarves as well, of course. Bombur was the largest, his stomach a glowing ball in the light from the fire. Kili and Fili were the youngest, and they were leaner than the rest. Thorin... Thorin was the tallest. He had removed all but his breeches, leaving little to the imagination. There was not an ounce of fat on him. His chest was pure muscle, chiselled and glistening in the light. His upper arms looked larger than Bilbo's own thighs, and his forearms were lean and strong, sinews playing beneath the skin as he moved. He took Bilbo's breath away.

The Hobbit coughed and shook his head, looking back at Gandalf again. "I suppose I need to work on... getting used to it." He muttered, playing with the hem of his shirt.

Gandalf hummed and puffed on his pipe."Living fifteen people on top of each other like this can be taxing for someone who is used to solitude," he commented, glancing down at Bilbo.

The Halfling gave the other man a lopsided smile. "Just a little," he said, trying his best to keep as much sarcasm as possible out of his voice.

"Perhaps you would like to explore the rest of the cave?" Gandalf suggested, pointing with his pipe in direction of the tunnel Bilbo had seen earlier. The Hobbit's interest was instantly piqued. An hour or so alone, a bit of privacy... it sounded like heaven. He nodded fervently.

"I think I will do just that!" He exclaimed, getting to his feet. "Thank you, Gandalf." He smiled at the old wizard who just chuckled and waved him along. After getting a stick and some dried grass from the firewood pile, he made a makeshift torch and dipped it in leftover animal fat from the dinner. When he stuck it into the fire it blazed brightly, and Bilbo found himself humming under his breath as he walked into the tunnel, the torch held high above his head.

The first room he came to was a lot smaller than the one in which they had set up camp. It was large enough for a human man to stand in, but not as broad. Forming an almost perfect circle, it took Bilbo eight strides to cross from one side to the other. It was a nice chamber, especially for someone travelling alone, who might think the other room too spacious. However, if all the Dwarves had needed to share this one space, it would have been terribly crowded, so Bilbo was suddenly very glad for the bigger cavern.

He lifted his torch and saw the tunnel continuing into the mountain on the other side of the room. As he walked down a path that looked to have been cleared by human hands, he noticed that this tunnel was not only longer, but carved its way downwards into the cliff. The tunnel was narrower than the others, and at one point Bilbo felt his head brush against the ceiling for a moment.

He continued on, however, and soon the tunnel opened out into a room that took Bilbo's breath away. There was no water in the room now, but at some point in a distant past, Bilbo felt certain that this chamber had been filled with water that had slowly receded. The walls were a polished white, and from the ceiling hung a myriad of spectacular stalactites, creating a pattern of ripples and pure white spikes and prongs. One stalactite had grown so large it met the floor and looked like a majestic pillar, holding up the rest of the roof. Bilbo sat down in the middle of the room and just watched, his eyes taking in the beauty around him.

Bilbo sat still in the subterranean chamber for what seemed like hours, until a noise from the tunnel brought him back to himself and he found himself shivering on the cold stone floor. He got to his feet and brushed off his bottom, looking expectantly at the tunnel mouth. Maybe it was Gandalf, coming to bring him back.

To his great surprise, it was not the old wizard who stepped into the circle of light surrounding his torch, but the majestic figure of Thorin Oakenshield. The Dwarf was clad as before, only in breeches, and carried five logs of firewood. "There you are," he said brusquely, looking at Bilbo. "Greyhame said you wanted privacy and would likely stay in here for a while." The Dwarf king dumped the firewood on the floor of the chamber and brushed his hands against each other. "Now you won't freeze to death."

Bilbo looked confusedly down at the logs wondering why in the world Thorin would bother bringing him firewood, when it dawned on him. "Does my company give you so much displeasure you need to make sure yourself that I stay away for the night?" He huffed, his voice sardonic.

"That is not..." Thorin frowned and inhaled deeply, seeming to need to calm himself. "You are without a doubt the most irritating creature I have ever met," the Dward muttered, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

Bilbo frowned, an injured look on his face. "Well then," he said, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders. "Well then, go on," he said, pointing at the tunnel. "Go, and I shall irritate you no longer," he stated, turning his back to the other man. He was stopped as a strong hand wrapped around his upper arm.

"That is not…" Thorin started, his teeth gritted. "What I mean to say… no one irritates me as much as you."

Bilbo sniffed and tried to pull away from the bigger Dwarf. "Yes, you've made your dislike of me very clear, thank you very much."

Thorin closed his eyes in what looked to be frustration. "You don't… that's not… by the gods, you are denser than the depths of Mirkwood!" The Dwarf king growled and pulled Bilbo closer, his hands wrapped tightly around the Halfling's upper arms as if he was about to shake him. "From the very start, you have been an utter nuisance. I did not want you to come, I believed you would slow us down, and I feel I've been proven right on several occasions.

"You are a creature of comfort, you've said so yourself, unaccustomed to this kind of life. At every turn you speak of the Shire, of your books, of your bed, of your fireplace. You do not belong here." Bilbo was about to come with a scathing comment, but the King under the Mountain took a deep breath and continued without pause. "Yet you keep on going. I've tried to make you turn around, time and time again, yet here you are, forging ahead, as annoying as ever. And for a cause that is not your own!"

"I've told you all…" Bilbo started, but Thorin cut him off.

"Yes, I know, Gandalf believes an adventure would be good for you. But this goes beyond that. Beneath your soft exterior, you have a core of pure steel, Hobbit. You are stupidly courageous, annoyingly persistent, maddeningly loyal. You, Mr. Baggins, are the single most exasperating person I have ever met."

Bilbo blinked. The words coming out of Thorin's mouth were harsh and sounded like insults to the Halfling's ears, yet his tone was gentle, almost fond. He licked his lips carefully. "I, well, thank you, I suppose," he said hesitantly, gauging the other man's reaction. "That is to say… well… you exasperate me too?"

From the crinkling of Thorin's eyes, Bilbo knew he had said the right thing, so he soldiered on. "You're terribly brusque, even downright rude at times, and you always believe yourself in the right. You make up your mind, and then refuse to change it, or to even consider a different opinion!" Bilbo was quickly finding that airing his thus far private thoughts about the Dwarf in front of him was strangely liberating. "You're so stubborn," he continued heatedly, his face flushed with the excitement of finally being able to let go of all his pent up frustration. "If you've decided to take a certain road, not even a landslide can force you to change your route, you'd rather break through anything blocking your way than doing the sensible thing and taking a different road! It's infuriating! And finally..." Bilbo stopped to take a breath, but he didn't get the chance to continue, because suddenly he found himself wrapped in strong arms and Thorin's beard tickled at his chin as their mouths clashed together.

At first, Bilbo was frozen in shock, but as the kiss continued he felt his body starting to respond. His arms seemed to move to Thorin's neck of their own accord, and his right hand curled in the tresses of hair he found there. His mouth opened to the questing tongue of the king, and his left hand used the leverage of Thorin's shoulder to pull himself closer to the other man.

Bilbo didn't know how long it lasted. Thorin kissed like he lived: forcefully, impatiently, and with a single-minded attention to the task in front of him. It was consuming. Bilbo felt like a precious metal, thrown into the fire and forged into something new. When they slowly pulled apart, Bilbo was so dazed he had to blink several times to bring Thorin back into focus. "So..." he started, but didn't quite know how to continue. "You..." He stopped again, blinking once more.

Thorin cleared his throat, and for the first time Bilbo saw him looking utterly discomposed. His face was flushed, his hair in disarray, and his eyes twinkled in amusement. "Like I said, you annoy me greatly," he murmured, then cleared his throat again. "But I believe you had one final point to your list?"

Bilbo blinked again. "My list?" He frowned a little before he remembered. "Oh! Oh, yes. Yes. But it's not important." The kiss had broken his stride and he was no longer in the mood to list the many shortcomings of the man in front of him. Shortcomings that were starting to seem less and less significant as the minutes passed.

"No, no, let's hear it," Thorin smiled, his arms tightening around Bilbo's waist.

Bilbo looked up at him and wrinkled his brow, before nodding. "Very well. Yes. The final point." He nodded again and licked his lips before continuing. "The final point, is that I don't believe I am the one who is accustomed to too many comforts, I believe you are accustomed to too few." He nodded firmly. "It is alright to stop and rest every now and then. To relax and just enjoy the company and merriment of others. It does not make you weak, it just makes you sociable." He wanted to add 'so there' to the end of his point, but he felt that perhaps he had to retain some maturity through this strange exchange.

Thorin chuckled and Bilbo almost gaped in surprise. He had started to question whether or not the stoic man in front of him even could laugh. "Is this sociable enough for you?" The Dwarf king murmured and suddenly Bilbo found he was being kissed again, and, once again, his body responded very favourably indeed.

"Should we... should we be doing this?" Bilbo wondered aloud when he found his mouth unoccupied again.

Thorin hummed and stroked the back of Bilbo's neck with his broad hand. "Can you think of any good reasons why we shouldn't?" He asked, looking down at the Hobbit in his arms.

Bilbo laughed breathlessly. "Yes, a thousand and one," he said honestly, his mind racing through all the reasons why this was a very bad idea indeed. "But blast them," he grinned and kissed his king once more.

The end.