In my head Bilbo's warg is a crossbreed between the Gundabad Wargs we see in The Hobbit and the slightly fluffier ones as seen in the LOTR movies. I should also point out that, while I love dogs, I have never owned one or studied their behaviour in much depth so this might be absolute hokum.)

Warning: Animal abuse, discussion of animal death

Bilbo was restless. Despite the climb down from the peak the Eagles had left them at, the energy from the fight had left him jittery and unable to sleep. With all the company, bar Fili and Kili on guard duty, asleep he slipped the ring on and left the camp as quietly as he could (and a hobbit - when actively trying to be quiet - is almost noiseless). As soon as he was out of eyesight he removed the ring, he was basically invisible in the darkness anyway and everything was oddly colourless when he had the ring on.

He did not intend to wander far, well aware that Azog's orcs could not be that far behind them, and he checked his sword often. Before he knew it the low campfire they had built was barely a glimmer in the distance, he'd walked much further than he'd planned. Although the sword was reassuringly silver he decided to head back.

Or at least he had until he heard the low whining that sounded like a dog in pain. Working dogs and mousing cats were common in the Shire and could always be assured that they would be fed (Bilbo often left a saucer of milk out for the various neighbourhood mousers). That was the same noise he'd heard when a dog, belonging to one of his numerous cousins, had gotten her head stuck in his gate (the gate had had to be dismantled around the dog and then rebuilt). He wavered, checked the sword (silver), wondered what a dog could be doing out here, checked the sword again (still silver) and hurried towards the noise.

What he found was definitely not a dog. It was a warg, or some kind of warg since it didn't look wholly like the one he'd killed. He drew his sword, holding it in front of him with both hands, but the warg was well and truly tangled in a vicious looking thorn bush. It sniffed the air and Bilbo held his breath, waiting for the violent struggle to get out of the bush and eat him. He would about deserve it - he should either kill the thing now or else go back to the camp and wake one of the dwarves to do the same.

Except the warg didn't start baying for his blood, so he stepped a little closer and the warg could see him and cringed back when it saw the blade. From what he could see of it the warg was furrier and looked less diseased than the one he'd killed earlier. In the light of the moon he could see that its back was cut and that didn't seem to be from the thorns. It looked like somebody had beaten it with something and he felt a well of sympathy - nobody in the Shire would have thought to hit an animal, even a giant demon wolf-thing like this.

So maybe he lowered his sword a little and took a few more steps forward, perilously close to the ensnared warg. It stopped whining and opened those terrible jaws, tongue lolling out between sharp yellow teeth. If he didn't know any better he'd say the creature was smiling, though its mouth seemed relaxed, not snarling. It stretched forward, and he was reminded of the various cats he had known, wanting to smell a new person.

Why he did what he did next Bilbo would never quite understand, like picking up the ring or charging an orc or joining this quest in the first place, it simply seemed like the best idea at the time. He took one hand off the hilt of the sword and tentatively edged forwards to let the creature smell it - always ready to jump back if it tried to take his hand off. Instead, like a cat, it took a sniff and then rubbed its face over his hand. To his surprise its fur was not as coarse as he would have expected. It gave a happy little bark.

He'd never thought that animals could be capable of trickery. He knew the wargs had scouted them but he'd seen normal dogs sent off to hunt a fox by themselves (a comparison which rather disturbed him now, having been the fox in that situation) and all the other wargs had had orcs on their back. Was it possible that this warg did not want to eat him. It didn't seem like it did. In fact, it seemed to be quite happy - at least until it twitched its hind quarters and he remembered that it was stuck in a thorn bush.

Mind not really made up, but he couldn't very well leave an animal in distress, he came even closer and got a better look at the warg. Its paws were brutally tangled up, there were thorn vines around it's back side and even one or two around the barrel chest, the thorns were surprisingly large and dug viciously in whenever the animal moved. Cautiously he brought the sword up and the warg cringed away. He found himself making nonsense soothing noises and actually petting the creature as he used the sword to cut the vines around its chest, moving down to the hind quarters - it craned its head around to follow him - and the back paws. He left the front paws until last, amazed at how still the creature had remained so far but still wary of what it might do when completely free.

When he'd cut the last of the thorn branches from around its front paws he backed off, watching in fearful anticipation. It jumped free, shook itself, sat down and (in a motion that he would have not expected from a giant wolf-thing) scratched one of its ears with a hind leg before licking itself in places better not mentioned in polite company. Then it looked at him, head tilted.

Hobbit and warg considered each other and Bilbo raised his sword just a little bit, preparing for it to jump at him. Instead the warg's belly hit the ground and it whined, rolling over and showing him its belly. He was fairly well convinced that the animal didn't mean him any harm and put the sword away.

"Good..." Bilbo hesitated, not entirely sure what gender the warg was (assuming they had genders) and then guessing entirely since it probably couldn't understand him, "boy. Nice doggy."

It rolled back over, still low to the ground looking up at him but not meeting his eyes.

The moon had come out in full from behind the low cloud and now the warg was free of the thorn bush he could definitely see wounds on its back that could not have come from the thorns. He couldn't imagine orcs were particularly kind to their mounts and if this one had shown weakness then they wouldn't have hesitated to hurt it. Or leave it to die.

Well the warg was free and that was really all he could do so he carefully backed away from it, intended to head back to camp and sleep.

It followed him. Belly still mostly to the ground and slinking along like it hoped he wouldn't notice it but it was definitely following him.

"You really can't follow me," he said conversationally, "just saved his life or not, I don't think Thorin would let you stay."

The warg whined, creeping closer and nosing at his hand.

"Yes, I know you're not going to try and eat them, but they don't." If talking to yourself was the first sign of madness, he had to wonder what sign holding a conversation with a warg was.

"Besides, I'm travelling with a dozen dwarves - I don't think your nose could handle them."

It looked up at him with an expression that Bilbo could only call pitiable. It was quite disconcerting, since the warg's face was obviously not made to express that kind of emotion, but it was oddly endearing.

"Oh very well, but if they make you go away it's your own fault."

The warg made a noise that he guessed indicated happiness and, when Bilbo smacked his leg (the way he'd seen people do to get a dog to follow them) the warg came easily, its tail wagging happily.

They had to stop on the way back because Bilbo noticed quickly that the warg was limping and, on closer inspection, pulled out two or three thorns from various paws. He didn't have anything apart from his clothing to bandage them so he left them - hoping that he might be able to use something from his pack to tend to them later.

When he looked up at the sky he was surprised to see the pale light of dawn almost upon them - it did not feel like rescuing the warg had taken the whole night. Still, if he timed it right, they could get there after all the dwarves and Gandalf had woken up which would stop them all waking up because there was a warg in the camp and starting out hostile.

The warg seemed much happier than he was, prancing around and nosing at his hand. Despite the fact that it was as big as he was it was acting like a small puppy. He discovered that it loved having the fluffy crest, which ran down its neck to its shoulders, rubbed. It had darted off a couple of times and come back bearing various rabbits, some kind of bird and a small deer - all of which Bilbo had had to drape over its back to carry.

It was about half way back that he determined that he'd been wrong earlier. The warg was a female. Or at least he was fairly sure she was, judging by the lack of certain parts of anatomy. Odd because she was at least the size of the wargs he'd seen earlier.

"You need a name," he said, petting her. Thinking of Myrtle, the pony he'd lost before Rivendell. As incongruous as it was, a flower name would be nice. His cousin Primula had gotten engaged before he'd been dragged off on this adventure, so maybe something like that. "You know, I think I'll call you Petunia. Would you like that, girl?"

The warg didn't seem to disagree, which he took as a very good sign.

The noise coming from camp as he approached it signalled that the dwarves were awake, and hopefully nobody had noticed he was missing just yet.

"This is it," he said quietly, giving Petunia one final pat.

Nervously he re-entered the camp. The dwarves, very much involved in breakfast, didn't notice him until he cleared his throat.

Then everything happened at once. Breakfast, such as it was, was dropped as the shout of 'Warg' went up and all the dwarves dived for weapons.

"Don't move," Fili shouted as Kili aimed an arrow at Petunia. Bilbo stepped in front of her.

"That's a warg," somebody shouted, "get out of the way."

"What on earth is going on?" Gandalf thundered as he and Thorin returned to the main camp.

"There's a warg," was the general consensus, as if the wizard couldn't see at least half of Petunia's head protruding over the top of Bilbo's curls.

"Well, Bilbo," Gandalf said, turning to the hobbit.

"Erm...well...yes," Bilbo said, clearing his throat nervously. All the dwarves were regarding him like he'd gone crazy and even Thorin had one dark eyebrow arched. "Her name is Petunia and I don't think she's that bad."

"That's a warg," Thorin said, "they do not come in anything other than bad, Master Baggins. Step aside and let somebody end it's life before it takes yours."

"Look, she was stuck and she's been beaten and she hasn't even growled at me this whole time," Bilbo said, words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Can't you make him see sense Mr. Gandalf?" Dori said.

"We shall see," Gandalf rumbled, approaching Bilbo and Petunia. Bilbo stepped aside and the wizard stuck out a hand to let the warg smell it. The dwarves all inhaled as the warg snuffled at the wizard.

The strangest expression contorted the warg's face and then she sneezed. Once. Twice. Three times in quick succession. Gandalf laughed and cupped a hand under the massive jaws, meeting the warg's eyes. Bilbo could see that he was searching for something in her eyes and, either finding or not finding it, let her go.

"I do not believe she's a danger to anybody here," Gandalf said, turning, "I am no Radagast, but I can find none of the hate in her that we might expect."

"You expect us to travel with her?" Dwalin said.

"Weeeeeell," said Bofur, considering it, "a loyal warg would have certain uses. Fighting and hunting and the like."

"She's brought breakfast," Bilbo said quickly, shoving the dead animals off of Petunia's back.

"I like her already," Bombur said.

"Very well," Thorin said, with an air of finality, "but its welfare is your responsibility, Master Baggins, and it won't be eating any of our supplies."

Bilbo had to back Petunia away from her bounty before any of the other dwarves would take it but she didn't seem all to bothered by that. It was Fili and Kili, urging each other forward, who were the first to approach her. Dutifully, she smelt their hands and even allowed them to pet her, rather tentatively, but in a rather detached way.

And that was how the Company of Thorin Oakenshield gained its sixteenth member.