He couldn't get comfortable. He knew he should be resting for the journey ahead tomorrow, but he felt restless beyond words. And he couldn't even toss and turn, or even fidget any more because his adad had finally wrapped him in his arms and held him quite still.

Even in sleep, the blasted Dwarf was ridiculously strong.

Could the dragon be dead? Or was he alive, brooding over his stolen hoard of bright gold, rare carvings, exquisitely wrought cups of precious metals and gems, the veritable armoury of weapons crafted by long-dead experts, the glittering rainbow of gems and jewellery? Did he know what was coming? Had he even taken a mate and bred?

He was getting ahead of himself, being silly. If the beast had taken a mate, the world would have known by now. Besides, weren't dragons becoming rarer, their kind dying out?

Hobbits were not meant to face dragons. That said, they weren't meant to battle giant spiders or slay orcs and he had done those things.

At least, if worse came to worse, he wouldn't die unloved or alone.

"There is a secret entrance somewhere, we only need to find out where."

"And your grandfather never told you?"

"No."

"Your father?"

"He wasn't exactly an open book."

"Well, do you have an inkling, perhaps, where it could be?"

"He came from nowhere. My grandfather searched for him after the dragon.. I still remember my father looked so out of breath. I believe there must be a set of stairs heading to this door." Thorin touched his chest, where the odd key hung. It didn't look like it could unlock anything, but Bilbo knew nothing about Dwarven keys, so he kept this thought secret. "We only have to find them. Then we'll find the exit."

Bilbo looked at the map. "We can't enter through the front because..?"

"No one has used it in nearly two hundred years." Balin said. "We have no way of knowing if it will even work, but if it does, it was never the quietest contraption if I recall correctly."

"You do," Thorin confirmed. "It was loud, very loud indeed. Besides, I heard them whispering to my grandfather's cousin about a tunnel. There was no tunnel to the gate and a tunnel provides more discretion. When we get to the Lonely Mountain, we must be on the lookout for a high, potentially steep, staircase carved into the mountain."

"What happens when the door is unlocked?"

Thorin looked down at the map, tearing his serious blue eyes from Bilbo's green. "We'll send someone in with you. Someone who knows the Mountain and won't go rushing in to search it himself. Balin?"

The white-haired dwarrow nodded. "Aye, that's fine. If it is a tunnel, it will be straightforward and I remember where the treasury lay."

"My adad told me that if I can't find the King's Jewel, a coin would suffice."

Thorin stared at him for a moment and then nodded shortly. "Yes. But I do ask that you look and keep looking unless it becomes too perilous."

"I will look. It's what you hired me for, isn't it?"

Thorin offered him a weak half-smile. "You are not disposable. If you even have a flicker of fear about your safety, get out, and bring a coin. Otherwise, I shall expect the Arkenstone."

"What does it look like?"

"The Arkenstone! The Arkenstone! It was like a globe with a thousand facets, it shone like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars, like rain upon the Moon!" At this, Thorin's expression turned dreamy as though he could see this bright, remarkable gem, could hold it in his broad hand and reclaim his Kingdom in seconds. "It was beyond worth. The jewel of Kings! It is large, large enough for a Dwarf to hold in one hand and barely close his fingers over. Does that answer your question?"

It did, though Bilbo couldn't picture it in his mind's eye, he had an idea of what it looked like. "When do we leave?"

"At first light. I do not wish to stay here in time for a fuss. We are too close to Mirkwood for my liking, it would do no good to attract attention if any of those pointy-eared tree-shaggers should come for the trades and see the fourteen of us being cheered away."

Bilbo hadn't seen any Elves, but there had been hints of visitors of an elven nature and he knew that they would try to stop them if they found them. Thorin was right. It was best to leave quietly and early.

They were less claustrophobic than Bilbo had thought they'd be, but then, it didn't surprise him that the group of warriors were so matter-of-fact about it.

"If you spend all your time worrying, you'll get nowt done out of fear." This pearl of wisdom had come from his own papa, of all people, when he'd undergone a finicky phase and hadn't so much as stepped outdoors for a week. He'd only been small at the time, but he could remember being plucked up from where he had been hiding behind his mother's skirts and set on his father's knee. He could remember those kind, loving green eyes, the smell of pipeweed and old books. Lots of his own sayings had originated from his papa who had been exactly right about them all. Maybe Dwarves had their own sayings and thoughts about dangerous situations, but he was glad, at any rate, that they weren't clucking over him like a flock of panicked hens.

He leaned against the wall, trying to think of anything but what was coming. The door opened and shut. He expected to see his adad's jet-black, but the eyes he saw were the brown of autumn. Ori seated himself beside him, lightly nudging him as he did so. He felt oddly solid for one who looked as timid as Bilbo felt he did. Solid and warm and safe.

'You should always go for the one you feel safest with,' Bungo's voice rang out. Bilbo felt the tip of his ears flush. Why did that little gem come into his mind?

"I have something. Your hands are littler and thinner than ours, so.." Ori pressed something soft, woolen and warm into his lap.

Made of grey wool, they were a bit large for his hands, really, but they were cosy and warm and evidently made with great care. He smiled, gratefully at the shuffling Dwarf. "Thank you."

"I left the part where the fingers normally go because there might be climbing and you'll need to grip properly, and you can push them over your wrists and-"

"They're perfect," Bilbo interrupted before he exhausted himself trying to explain the design. "They're the first gloves I've ever really owned.. We don't need them much in the Shire."

Ori blushed pinkly. Even his freckles blushed. He seemed upon the verge of saying something, but bit the words back, instead choosing to stay beside him in companionable silence, the two entwined in their own thoughts and fears, taking some comfort in the friend beside them.

Of all of them, Dori was the first to start drinking. Then Dwalin decided he would have an ale too, if Dori was drinking. Then his cousins joined him. By ten, the fourteen of them had some form of sustenance before them and Thorin was slurrily and hypocritically telling them to watch their intake, in particular Kíli who apparently got clumsy when hungover.

"When I get home," said Bombur. "I'm going to give Qlîna all the things she deserves, all the things we never used to be able to afford."

"What about my niece?" Bofur asked.

"Well, of course, Ažomil will get things, but she's a babe in arms and content with little. You know that."

"I suppose. Well, it looks up to me to treat our dear mother after all the hard work you put her through."

"Me?" Bombur exclaimed. "Well! As though you weren't the one who always had a prank up his sleeve!"

"You were the one who used to sneak down every night to raid the pantry!"

Bombur raised an eyebrow. "'Used to'?"

"Oh, leave him. Nighttime eating is the best part of life!" Nori said. "Especially when your amad has just made her spicy gingerbread and it's a cold night."

Bombur sighed longingly. "There's so many things Qlîna deserves. I want her to have an easy life, and for Ažomil to grow up free of the worries we sometimes had."

"You know what she says about having an easy life." Bofur said. "But I know what you mean, especially about Ažomil. Still, she'll be grand, especially with Mam looking out for her."

Bombur nodded with a smile and took another drink from his tankard.

"She'll be walking by the time you return." Óin told him.

"She was just learning to crawl when we left the Blue Mountains." Bombur said softly. "Walking, you say? My poor Qlîna! Children can move awfully fast." With a grin, he added, "That's why you hold Gimli's hand when you're out with him, isn't it?"

"Partly," Glóin answered. "The thing is, he wanders. He's done so since he could toddle about. It was fine for my father. He was so huge, he'd only look down and spot me in seconds! I don't have that advantage." As an afterthought, he said, "the bugger is nearly bigger than I am."

"Does he wander with Neoma's father..?"

"Don't be daft, Bombur. I wouldn't dare wander with Neoma's father, let alone Gimli!"

The others, knowing when a train of 'child-obsessed adad' talk was coming, ignored the two and discussed the treasure of Erebor, delicately (as Dwarves can) stepping around the issue of the dragon by ignoring the fact it ever existed.

"Does it help? Having a father in law rather than your own?"

"Well.." Glóin gazed into the depths of his cup. "Ours was a unique situation. After what happened, we were influxed with people wanting to help. As the years passed, it was generally accepted all was more or less well again. But Alrik stuck around through it all. Be honest, I can't tell you the difference between my own father and him. Far as I'm concerned, he is my father in deeds if not blood. So it doesn't really compare, one to the other. Does Qlîna like your father?"

"Aye. But she grew up without a father. Sometimes I wonder what my father in law must have been like."

"You worry, don't you?"

"Well, I'm hardly the picture of a perfect husband."

"Ah, who cares about that nonsense? When Neoma and I first got married, my beard was straggly and my hair was barely long enough to put in a bead. And I was so weedy, she used to say I could fit in a needle's eye. You're a young Dwarf with Mahal knows how many years to grow into a so-called perfect husband." He took a deep drink of his ale. "What matters is how you treat your partner. Nothing else, really."

"How long have you been married now?"

"You know how long, you idiot. We celebrated our 75th last year. Seventy five years with Mahal's most perfect dwarrowdam."

"I don't know why you're so smug. I'm with the most perfect dwarrowdam!"

"You are not. I am!"

Bombur rolled his eyes. "Not," he muttered. "Gimli must have been a wonderful surprise when he came after those fourteen years."

"He was, yes." Glóin felt in his tunic pocket for the blue quartz runestone that had been carried for so many weeks. "A joy to behold."

A few ales later and the conversation steered toward women in general. Specifically the iron fists with which they ruled their homes.

"You should have seen the sight of my great renowned fighter of a father turning into mush at the sight of my mother. I never knew anyone who loved his wife so much." said Glóin, the Dwarf whose tone, expression and general outlook softened considerably when his own bride was mentioned.

"I try and be like my father. He wasn't much of a cook, but he could make her favourite perfectly."

"What is it?"

"Honeyed oatcakes."

Glóin shuddered. "I thought your amad had good taste. Is she still as formidable as when I was young?"

"Worse. She liked you!"

"She was sweet." Glóin admitted. "I was always welcome to help knead the dough for her."

"She hates kneading dough, you know."

Glóin smiled. "That explains it. But she was a very kind woman, though she could be terrifying when angry. Luckily for me, I never invoked her wrath! I came close once when I kept laughing at you eating her flour."

"I thought it was something nice!" Bombur laughingly defended himself. "Our dear mother!"

"How is she?"

"As you remember her being, I suppose. Bit louder, though and the eyesight isn't what it was, but she doesn't seem to notice."

"I know your father is fine because a week before leaving Ered Luin, he got me drunk to the point of no return and spent the week mocking me for not holding my ale as well as him."

Bombur grinned sheepishly. "Did he?"

"Old rascal! Bofur takes after him completely. Looks and everything."

"I'm sure your father had his moments."

"Da had a prosthetic foot." Glóin recalled, gaining his cousins' attention. "And I never found out until I was nineteen. Do you know how I found out?"

"Yes," Dwalin said, grinning rather wickedly.

"No," said Bombur, shaking his head. "How?"

"He'd just got in from the mines, cleared off the coal dust and was trying to relax, but I didn't care about that. All I thought was that my father was finally home to play marbles with me. So, I went over to him, demanding he play with me, that he fuss over me-"

Dwalin snorted. Bombur grinned.

"-And my father said very quietly and sadly that he had a 'baddy foot', but luckily he knew just the thing to sort it out. It just needed to be rolled around very slowly and carefully. So I did as he asked and the second the ruddy prosthetic came off, he screamed like he was dying. It scared the daylights out of me - Oh, shut up, Dwalin!"

Dwalin only laughed harder.

"I still remember our grandad hollering at him. He didn't only scare me, our poor grandad thought something unspeakable had happened to his surviving son and told him as much."

"He told Dís that story every time he saw us, you know." Thorin said. "I don't know why he thought she loved that tale as much as he did. Maybe it helped that he told the story of how he came to have lost his foot in the first place."

"By crushing every bone it had, wasn't it?"

"He was very strong at a very young age and lifted something that turned out to be too heavy for him and dropped it. Before they made him sleep so they could remove what was left of his foot, he knew what was going to happen and when he awoke, he treated his father to one of his terrible jokes-"

Bilbo gave his adad an 'I told you so' look and returned his attention to Thorin.

"He said to his father that he felt smaller than usual and when asked why, he answered, 'Well, I did just lose a foot!'"

Glóin hmphed. "He was trying to lighten the situation. Anyway, he survived to tell the tale and traumatise me. And our grandad was right, he was a childish git to do that, the old bugger."

"I think it's funny," said Kíli earnestly. "If I ever need a prosthetic, I'm doing that."

"If you ever wind up needing a prosthetic, I'll be dead." Thorin said. "Your mother would murder me."

"And if you made a joke about it, she'd kill you." Fíli, the helpful brother, added.

"So I wouldn't tell her the joke!"

Fíli smirked disbelievingly. He knew, of course, that Kíli repeated his favoured jokes to anyone who he thought would like his jokes and his mother who no doubt laughed obligingly at each one he told, would be the first to hear any such joke.
The trick, however, was an entirely different matter. Even Kíli wouldn't dare to do it upon their mother.

''A-aack! Gollum! We wants it precious-s-s-s, we will find it soon.. Baggins-s is a thief!'

The ring was heavy around his finger. It felt looser and looser and of its own accord, almost, slid from his grasp and clattered oh-so quickly to the hunched figure that stayed so close to the great beast, who had one dull green eye open, tendrils of smoke twisting from its monstrous jaws.

Gollum gave no real notice, no joy of finding his beloved item, but Bilbo could see it, gleaming gold on a stone-coloured finger. Gold, so bright, so pure, so perfect.. It did not belong to that creature, it was his! Sword in hand, he leapt upon Gollum who did not react, merely staying stock-still even as Bilbo hacked him bloodlessly in two. The ring was now back with him. He felt at peace, at ease now. Even the dragon was gone. Had he killed it? No, no, he couldn't remember doing that and he was sure he would. Now it was just him. Him and his precious...'

Bilbo shivered as he shook himself from the strange dream. He scrambled through his pocket and found it, unharmed and beautiful, perfect and precious. His ring. His own ring of invisibility. He thought back to the dream and felt no fear or shame from it. Now it lay, gleaming innocent and golden in his palm, and he knew he would do anything to protect it.

"Pundurith?"

He hastily, but carefully, slipped his small treasure into its place. He felt strange, oddly light, the moment it slipped from his grasp, but he put it down to knowing he had no more worries for the ring. "Yes?"

"Why in Mahal's name are you out of bed? You must have turned to ice by now! Get back in!"

"Fusspot." Bilbo muttered, though he trotted over, knowing much better than to argue with, much less disobey, his adad.

"Tearaway."

"Hypocrite." Óin mumbled, half-asleep.

"Ah, shag off!"

"Watch your sodding language," said the Dwarf who knew more rude words than polite ones and who turned the air positively blue with his arsenal of creative terms.

His adad ignored this and wrapped his big, warm arms around him. Bilbo stole a glance to the window which showed a slice of silver moonlight and little more. Late or early, the time meant nothing. He knew what was coming.

"I'm scared," Bilbo admitted quietly.

"That's alright."

"No, it's not. How can it be?"

"You'd be surprised what you can do when you're afraid. Better to be afraid and cautious than fearless and reckless. You get a better chance of staying alive."

"I thought Dwarves valued bravery." Bilbo said.

"We value lots of things. You might be surprised to know that kindness is one of them. Mainly on our children's behalfs, you know."

"I might've guessed children would have something to do with it." Bilbo said, half-smiling. "You didn't answer!"

"I suppose my point was that we don't only value courage. But you have plenty of that. You must know it. You could have turned back at any time, but you're here now. You haven't refused, you haven't quit. You're rightfully afraid, but you're still going through with what you vowed and that's courage."

"It doesn't feel like courage," said Bilbo.

"It never does. No one truly knows how it feels to be brave. They only know what it looks like."

This was somewhat comforting. He placed his head upon the broad chest which was softened by the thick pillow of beard. It often seemed like the maker of Dwarves had purposely designed them with beards for cuddling purposes.

"Sleep," his adad whispered. "You'll feel better after a few hours of rest. Close your eyes and think of something nice."

He did as suggested, closing his eyes and thinking of something peaceful. Not a chance would he tell any of the Company, but he thought of Rivendell, with its gently sloping pine valley, the gold sunlight falling in, the pale homes, the gentle waterfalls and its graceful clear river glittering brightly in the light of moon, stars, sun and fire alike.

AT LAST! Good news is the 46th chapter is nearly finito, so that's something. Thorin's description of the Arkenstone is taken nearly word-for-word from the Hobbit novel, so do not give this slowpoke the credit, give it to J.R.R. Tolkien and reread the book because why on earth not?

I can't believe it's been three years since I put up the first chapter. THREE. YEARS. You could have 1.5 series of Sherlock in that time. Jesus, the time went quick. Anyway, I'm REALLY sorry about the wait, I know it sucks ass and it's frustrating, but rest assured I won't give up on this while it's unfinished. It's very nearly finished. God, the tension of the upcoming scenes are killing me.

Quick note, yes I know Smaug has gold eyes, not green, but Bilbo doesn't. So that's why there's that one discrepancy :)

EDIT: Uploaded twice because dumbass here forgot the last bit with Glóin and Pundurith!

Hope it was enjoyed!

Love from Shania. xx