A/N: This idea just came to me and refused point blank to leave me alone. And who am I to deny my Thilbo muse?! Therefore I give you this! Please enjoy. :3

Note: I'm making up a lot of dwarvish lore so don't quote me on anything because I'm making it up, bahahaha... Also within this AU everyone lived after BOT5A - except for Thorin. But it's OK he comes back (this is where the dwarvish lore comes in :P ) and everything will be happy :3 I've also changed how long it takes to get to Erebor from the Shire, because you don't want to keep a hobbit from his dwarf for too long... :P

Stoneblind

Prologue

Rise with the birds, ignoring the way their chirping always made him think of forest paths and cold mornings but the promise of new things to see and - just maybe - a glance from a pair of beautiful, aloof sapphire eyes.

Then first breakfast - steering completely clear of apples, so that the sweet juicy crunch won't remind him of mealtimes on the roadside, raucous laughing and warm smiles being shared.

Then a hot, soaky bath, maybe with scented oils if he's feeling luxurious - but never pine, that smell evoking too many memories of nights in forest clearings staring up at the night sky, so different yet the same as the one he sees at home. When he's washed and his hair is drying, it's time for second breakfast, something hot and filling.

Maybe he'll go to market after that, or perhaps he'll read - it depends. But he never reads anything about adventures or dwarves any more, as all he sees is a brooding face with sharp eyes in his mind; those eyes which would sometimes crinkle in a smile but towards the end became haunted and tainted by gold-lust.

Then time for elevenses, and then a nap before lunch. When he wakes, the postman has been so he goes outside to collect the letters, sighing as he reads another dull letter from one cousin or other or receives yet another invitation to tea from another doting aunt. Usually a Took aunt; of all the hobbits he knows they find his adventure the most fascinating and don't mind in the least that he upped and ran off with thirteen dwarves.

After lunch he potters around until dinner, sometimes having afternoon tea if Lobelia decides to inflict herself upon him.

But today - today is different. He follows his usual routine, right up until lunch when he goes to collect the post. There's a different letter in there today, a thick parchment with a deep blue wax seal, the insignia of Erebor stamped in the now cold wax. At the sight his breath comes shorter and he sits heavily down on the bench outside, his legs going suddenly weak.

He cracks the seal and begins to read, anticipation pooling in his gut.

Our dear Bilbo and esteemed Burglar,

We hope you have reached your Shire safely and life in your smial is everything you ever wanted it to be. (Although Bilbo would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, he is bored by life here after their journey. Much as he once dreamt fondly of his comfy home, now he longs for the days on the road with people he grew to love as friends. Except for one, whom even now he still dreams of.)

We know you can't have been home long (four months and ten days, to be exact; not that he's counting. Each day weighs heavy in his heart.) but certain matters have arisen here and your presence is, if not absolutely required, then very highly desired by every member of our Company. We all sincerely hope that you will come back to us once again, our dear hobbit. We have missed you deeply and should you come back, although we cannot tempt you with riches, know that your presence will be welcomed most gratefully.

Our sincerest and warmest wishes,

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield

Bilbo sits for a few minutes simply staring at the letter, conflicting emotions warring in his heart. Part of him wants to simply jump up and run off down the road right now; the other, more pragmatic part says to at least sort out the house and pack a handkerchief this time. He presses the letter to his lips and lets out a shaky breath.

He goes inside and immediately writes a reply. It reads simply, My dearest friends, nothing will make me happier to join you all once more. I am on my way. Much love, Bilbo.

He ignores the stab in his heart as he thinks of a certain dwarf king, who had just begun to treat him as one of them before everything went downhill. A dwarf king who never failed to make Bilbo's heart race... But he doesn't think about that.

Instead he leaves the letter in the post box to be collected by the postman and goes to visit the Gamgees for lunch. He'll give them free run of his pantry while he's gone, and they'll do a fine job of keeping Lobelia away.

That night, he gorges on apples and reads every book on dwarves in his collection, and when he goes to sleep later he dreams of Thorin, as he has done ever since he left Erebor: the dwarf he let himself love and can't forget, even if he is now buried deep within the Mountain.

And early the next morning, with a pack full of food and plenty of handkerchiefs, Bilbo sets off on his way to Bree, where he will find someone to help him to Rivendell and from there to Erebor. He never stops to think about what business it is that requires his presence – perhaps if he did, he wouldn't have gone. But when friends call, Bilbo answers; his heart is lighter when he sets off that morning than it has been since Thorin died in his arms.

There are many things in Middle-earth which can't be understood. Some were never understood in the first place, while others have been forgotten over the long annals of time.

When Thorin Oakenshield opens his eyes, deep in the dark depths of the Mountain, breath once more flowing through his lungs and heart beating strong, the thought of one hobbit foremost on his mind, only Mahal himself understands why. And the Maker has never been one for sharing his secrets.

A/N: The title sounds kind of depressing so it may change :) More will be up soon - hopefully... :D