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Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkein and Peter Jackson own; I do not.

"Bilbo Baggins, open your door this instant! I know you're hiding in there!"

The hobbit in question startled at the sound of his dreaded cousin—Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, the harbinger of doom herself—pounding at his door. Bilbo cussed under his breath, abandoning his recently purchased book on the armchair he'd been occupying. Stealthily, he moved into the hallway, where the lighting was poor and the shadows more obscure.

It was a habit he and his cousin-in-law had fallen into in the weeks following his return; she would arrive at his door, Bilbo would hide, and whoever gave in first would be the victor. Sometimes, Lobelia lost her patience and left before Bilbo's pity for his innocent neighbors (who were subjected to Lobelia's voluminous ranting while their game went on) brought him out of hiding; sometimes, it was the other way around.

Bilbo had been quite intent on spending his day curled up by the hearth, with only a cup of tea and a book of elvish poems to keep him company. Reluctant to lose today's round of hide-or-be-found, he stood as still as possible, curbing the urge to fidget by stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Where low and behold was his little golden ring. Bilbo frowned, wondering how the darned trinket had found its way in there. Although, now that he thought about it, when had he seen the ring last? In the midst of reclaiming what items he'd lost at the auction and putting his household back in order, Bilbo had forgotten about the puzzling piece of jewelry. Come to think of it, he had never even tried the ring on!

Frivolously, Bilbo slipped it onto his finger, if only to give it a try. Wearing it didn't give him any feelings of magnificence or grandeur, of course; however, it was a rather nice fit.

"Bilbo!" Lobelia screeched, making him jump. Deep in his musings, he had forgotten about the mad woman knocking at his door. "Enough of this game! Stop lurking in your hallway and greet your guest like a proper gentlehobbit!"

Cursing the woman's keen senses, Bilbo sighed, resigning himself to his cousin-in-law's company. Without preamble, he threw open the front door, and braced himself for a verbal onslaught—

—that never came.

Instead, Lobelia squawked in shock. "Oh! Now what sort of parlor trick is this?"

Bilbo blinked. He was standing right in front of her, yet she was looking all about, searching for someone to welcome her inside. Wisely, he didn't say a word.

"Hello?" she demanded, jabbing her umbrella through the doorway; Bilbo managed to avoid a pointy stab to the stomach, almost swerving into his coatrack in the process. Her umbrella finding nothing but empty air, Lobelia huffed, clearly more annoyed than she had been when she first arrived.

"Confound it, Bilbo Baggins, vanishing into thin air! If this is a fancy new trick of yours, I am not amused!" she bristled. "And if you have brought more madness to this town, mark my words, you will regret it!"

And with that, Lobelia slammed the green door shut with a force that rattled the trinkets sitting atop his mantel, proper lady that she was. Only when he heard her footsteps disappear past the gate did Bilbo began to wonder what on Middle Earth had just occurred. Was Lobelia going blind? No, the woman was sharp as a tack, unfortunately. Was she going mad? Again, unlikely. Supposedly, Bilbo was the only mad hobbit in Hobbiton these days.

So how, then, had she completely missed his presence?

And then he remembered the ring still wrapped around his finger.

Uncertainly, Bilbo stepped outside, soaking in the sweet smell of herbs and flowers. On instinct, his eyes trailed towards the garden. Young Hamfast Gamgee was tending to it, elbow deep in soil and sweating in the afternoon sun. Bilbo was about to invite the lad in for a cool glass of water for all his hard work, when the other hobbit looked up, as if sensing the eyes on him. Looked right through Bilbo, he did, before refocusing on the flowers.

Bilbo decided to put the final stage of his experiment into action, removing the ring from his finger. There was no change in the world from his perspective. After a moment, however, Hamfast's gaze roved towards him again, only to startle when he saw his employer.

"Oh, Mister Baggins! I didn't see you there," he apologized.

"Hello, Hamfast. Lovely job with the garden," Bilbo praised absently, turning to go back inside. Once the door was shut behind him, Bilbo leaned against it, knees weak with glee. If anyone could see how hard Mister Baggins of Bag End was chuckling, seemingly at nothing, there would be no doubt that he was in fact the maddest hobbit of the Shire.

But Bilbo could care less what the neighbors said. For his new accessory, no matter how strange, now provided him with the perfect escape whenever unwanted visitors like Lobelia came knocking. All he had to do was slip it on, and poof! He could disappear and enjoy as many peaceful afternoons as he pleased. Not even his grievously damaged reputation could spoil that thought.

Laughing, Bilbo strolled into the kitchen for a snack, though not before tucking the ring securely into his waistcoat pocket.

Little did Bilbo know that when Lobelia spoke of madness, she meant the company of dwarves currently passing through Hobbiton.

Fili and Kili were making quite the spectacle of themselves, lagging behind to wave flirtatiously at the passing lasses and ruffle the heads of curious children, who followed their group with unabashed awe. Some of the older hobbits were less enthused by their presence, shooting dirty looks their way, as if they were somehow disturbing the peace. But Dwalin glared back at each and every one, so nobody commented on the company of dwarves making their way toward Bag Shot Row, however peculiar the sight was.

"You know, we never got to admire the Shire last we were here," Bofur remarked whimsically. "Quite a beautiful place, actually."

Indeed, the rolling green hills of the kindly West were a welcome reprieve from the rough terrain of the Misty Mountains. Nothing could compare to the sight of the house under the hill up ahead, though, not even the glorious mountain range or the halls of Rivendell.

"Finally!" moaned Fili, whose keen sight was the first to spot Bag End. To his right, Kili let out a great whoop of joy, bringing both his brother and Ori in for a one-armed embrace.

"Is it really okay that we're popping in unannounced?" asked the jostled scribe.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Dwalin grunted, to which Bofur laughed.

The door had faded in color and looked to be in dire need of a coat of paint, yet the mark of a thief was still carved into it, plain for all to see. Thorin traced the lines of it with a calloused thumb, giving his racing heart a moment to gather itself. With more confidence than he truly felt, he raised his hand to knock, ready for whatever reaction he might receive—

"Stop where you are!"

Beside of Thorin, Dwalin's hand instinctively flew to his axe, ever the vigilant guard. There was no need for arms, because they all recognized that great, booming tone.

Gandalf?

The wizard was barreling down Bag Shot Row most unsophisticatedly, muttering various words in languages unknown to dwarves under his breath. "Of all the stubborn quests to set out on... When I told you of Bilbo's survival, I never thought you would come rushing here within a year's time! Save me from the impulsiveness of dwarves!"

"Could we finish this conversation inside?" Kili huffed impatiently. Silently, Thorin agreed, and went to knock.

"Don't you dare," snapped Gandalf. "You will listen to my words before you open that door, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!"

Thorin's eyes narrowed challengingly. He did not come all this way simply for Gandalf the Grey to prevent him from attaining his heart's desire. Not without good reason. "And why should I?"

"Because who lies beyond it isn't who you seek," Gandalf intoned ominously. "The Bilbo Baggins who knew you is gone."

Outraged, Bofur cried, "But you said—"

"Physically, our hobbit is well," the wizard hastened to add. "It is his mind, my dear dwarrows, that has suffered real damage."

"Enough cryptic circles," Dwalin growled in aggravation. "Spit it out already!"

"Bilbo has no memory of the time he spent in your company," Gandalf complied, making Thorin wish he had kept his mouth shut. Ignorance was bliss, after all.

In the wake of these words, the dwarves felt their spirits sink. "Explain," the king demanded hoarsely.

"During the battle, Bilbo received a nasty blow to the head, and it made him forget." Gandalf's stern expression crumpled into sadness. "When he awoke in Rivendell, he had no memory of who I was, let alone the journey he took to help reclaim your home."

"Surely you jest, Gandalf," Fili tried hopefully. "One cannot simply forget so much...can they?"

Regrettably, Gandalf had no chance to reply before a sudden noise diverted all their attention back to the entrance of Bag End. The circular door had creaked open, revealing the hobbit very near and dear to their hearts: Bilbo Baggins.

Thorin's heart warmed at the sight. His hobbit looked exactly the same as he did when they'd parted, from the tips of his furry toes to the top of his curly head. Except that his face, which should have been filled with joy or relief or even anger at his past mistreatment, now depicted an eerie blankness. In fact, their burglar looked downright cautious. Upon meeting their stares, however, Bilbo managed a smile.

"Oh, excuse me! You gave me a fright, is all, as I'm not accustomed to a company of dwarves inhabiting my doorway!" he said with a small, nervous chuckle. "But where are my manners? I am Bilbo Baggins, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Thorin's previously warmed heart went cold and plummeted into the pit of his stomach. He hadn't wanted to believe Gandalf's words, yet here stood the proof, peering at him as though he'd never laid eyes on Thorin before.

"Ah, Gandalf!" exclaimed Bilbo, looking quite relieved to see the wizard lingering at the back of their company. "Are these fellows friends of yours?"

"Yes, they are," Gandalf confirmed succinctly. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce..."

But without further prompting, Dwalin stepped forward and gave a low bow, just as he had nearly two years ago.

"Dwalin, at your service."

Bag End was roomier with seven less guests to clutter it, but the gathering was much less merry than it had been with thirteen. The silence they sat in was thicker than pea soup, and broken only by Gandalf's effortless string of speech and Bilbo's awkward attempts to diffuse the tension. Needless to say, they weren't very effective.

"We shared a journey together?" he surmised at the end of the wizard's lengthy elaboration. Doing his best not to squirm under their unnerving gazes, Bilbo looked at his guests in undisguised curiosity. "These must be the dwarves you mentioned in Rivendell, the ones I traveled with."

"Six of them, at least. The rest had to stay behind," Ori piped up.

"They wish you the best, Mister Baggins. We were all devastatingly relieved when we heard of your recovery," added Bofur sincerely.

"Yes, well, it is a bittersweet recovery, I'm afraid," Bilbo said gloomily, eyes bowed in guilt. "I do wish I had offered you a brighter welcome, or that I could honestly greet you as friends, just as you six deserve. As it is, though...I cannot. So, I am truly sorry you came all this way for nothing..."

"No!" exclaimed Kili, forceful enough to raise the hobbit's head. "I mean, don't be sorry. We meant to come, anyway, on account of your gold."

Bilbo's jaw dropped open. "My what?"

"Aye," affirmed Dwalin, and without further adieu, hefted a medium-sized chest onto the hobbit's tea table. Bilbo squeaked at the sheer weight of it.

"You signed a contact with the rest of company, which promised you a full fourteenth share. We came both to see you and to honor that agreement," Ori went on.

"Oh!" gasped the hobbit, eyes widening to a comical size. "Um, that is an awful lot of treasure, I couldn't possibly accept so much—"

He yelped when a large, calloused hand lightly grasped his arm and drew his attention toward the dwarf Bilbo knew only as the king. Speaking for the first time since laying eyes on the hobbit again, Thorin said softly, "It would be a great favor to me if you took this gold as compensation for all you have done for me and my people, whether you remember your braves deeds or not."

Bilbo's face blushed hotly. "W-Well, in that case," he stuttered, searching for a way to hide his embarrassment. "E-Excuse me, will you? I should go and see to the dishes..."

With that, he fled to the kitchen. Thorin watched him go, mourning the loss of the brief contact they'd share.

In the wake of their host's departure, Fili muttered bleakly, "I cannot believe it. The Bilbo we knew is really...gone."

"He is not," negated Kili. "He's still our burglar, Fee, memory or no. Should we just give up and go home because we've hit a little bump in the road?"

"If we did that, we would have never made it to Erebor in the first place," Ori pointed out, siding with the youngest prince.

"What do you propose we do, then? Hit him over the head again and hope everything shifts back into place?" Dwalin came to the heir's defense.

"There will be no hitting of any kind," Gandalf rejected furiously. After that, the dwarves descended into a mess of heated words and calm agreements, all of them talking over each other in effort to have their opinions voiced.

"No, but we could try—"

"—and what if it doesn't work?"

"Oi, does anyone hear that?" said Bofur suddenly. Nobody listened.

"—Kee, I want him back as much as you—"

"—shouldn't let him suffer, it isn't right—"

"—well, what about uncle? You know how he feels—"

"Quiet, all of you! I hear—"

"—maybe we should ask Mister Baggins—"

"—is there a point in even trying?"

"I said, shut your mouths!" Bofur seethed, finally allowing the toymaker to get a word in edgewise. In lieu of speaking, he pressed a finger to his lips and gestured to the room where their host current resided. "Listen."

And in the utter silence that followed, the rest of them heard it, too. From somewhere within the kitchen, there was the soft clatter of china plates being stacked into piles, the fluid sound of sloshing water, and the scrape of a rag scrubbing against dishware. Above this harmony, however, another noise rose; a gentle humming, the kind one sang without even realizing. Bilbo had hummed a lot during their journey, usually while doing menial tasks, but this was not a song of the Shire. No, Thorin knew this tune as well as he knew his own sword.

"The song of the Lonely Mountain," Fili breathed. "He remembers it."

"Then there is still hope," said Ori optimistically.

"Perhaps," conceded Gandalf, thoughtfully. "Lord Elrond said that his recollections might not be lost forever. Rather, the blow to his head shoved them into the dark, forgotten recesses of his mind. In theory, they could be recovered. Unfortunately, I know neither how long or painful this process could be. Furthermore, you have to ask yourselves if you are willing to go through with it. Because once it starts, there will be no stopping the memories from returning. And you know as well as anyone, Thorin Oakenshield, that not all of those memories are pleasant."

"Take him, if you wish him to live; and no friendship of mine goes with him."

Cringing, Thorin nodded.

"Knowing this, do you still wish for him to remember?" the wizard continued.

"Yes," the king replied, without hesitation. If there was even a slight chance of bringing their burglar back, they would do their best to see it done. The rest of his fellows appeared to concur. "We must try. We owe him that much."

Gandalf nodded neutrally. "So be it."

Bilbo rejoined them to see the wizard off, and proceeded to allocate his guest bedrooms. Even the youngest of their company were weary from their travels and went to their rooms without question. Coincidentally, Thorin received the same one he had during his first night at Bag End, and a small part of him wondered if the hobbit subconsciously knew that. His eyes lingered on the door to Bilbo's room, wishing he could pull it aside and slip in beside that soft, warm body.

Alas, no invitation came, so he retired to his own room, where Thorin feared he would find no rest. But the memory of Bilbo's gentle rendition of the Lonely Mountain Song eventually soothed him to sleep.

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