An Entity Apart

by Larrkin

Another glorious morning. It seems the sun shines more here than it did in the mountains. This morning it lured me out into the front garden after stuffing myself with Beorn's bread and honey and warm milk. Many more days here and I'd gain back some of the weight I'd dropped since leaving Rivendell. Most of the dwarves were still sleeping. They're enjoying being able to do that. A few were up sitting at the table, Balin and Thorin, heads together, talking quietly at one end, Dori and Nori, who seem to be early risers, and a couple of others wandering about.

Our third day here and I could feel Thorin growing restless. He was eager to continue on. Perhaps we'd leave today or tomorrow, not that anyone bothered to tell me in advance. Thorin consulted with Balin and Gandalf about what our next move would be, and now they'd been including Beorn. I could become upset about being excluded from any such confidences or I could sit back and accept it as The Way of Things. I'm merely a humble burglar; I go in the direction I'm pointed. Obedience, I'd recently come to learn, was a big issue with Thorin Oakenshield.

"Good little grocers do as they are told."

I blinked at the memory of Thorin's words during the spanking he'd given me. It had been some time since that spanking and I hadn't done anything to earn myself another . . . well, aside from saving Thorin's life, and even he, rigid authoritarian that he was, wouldn't spank me for that. He'd thanked me. But he had taken me aside shortly thereafter and said, "You know that I am most grateful for your heroic deed, Master Baggins."

"Yes, but, really, it's quite alright -"

"Not entirely alright," he'd interrupted. "It's true that you saved me and our Quest, but another fact remains. If you recall, during your spanking I explained that you are a member of this Company and subject to a warrior's code of obedience."

A chill shot up my spine.

"I had given you a direct order to stay to the rear in times of peril."

He was using that 'tone,' the one I'd heard whilst I was in a most undignified position over his knee, my bottom on fire. Sensing I had but moments before this went somewhere I didn't want it to go, I said, "But-But, you said that I should stay to the rear 'as much as possible.'"

He gave a short nod. "True."

"And that I should listen to and obey my wiser self when I was confronted with a dangerous choice."

"Aye," he said with an indulgent half-grin. "You remember my words well."

"So, you aren't angry about me saving your life, are you?"

"No, I'm not," he said. "I'm merely pointing out that, all heroics aside, you did exactly what I'd ordered you not to do. You risked your life."

Realizing that this wasn't going to end with me over his lap, I breathed a sigh of relief and said, "But I didn't do so needlessly." Thorin frowned and I instantly regretted pushing matters when I was already off the hook.

He leaned down close to my ear and said in that deep-voiced, spine-shivering tone, "Just consider this a reminder, little one. Watch your step, because I'm watching it as well."

And he'd ended with a sharp swat that made me yelp.

Why that scene fired through my mind now I couldn't say, especially out here in the sunshine where the air was pleasant and fragrant with the scent of sweet grasses and flowers and herbs and the gentle hum of the harmless giant bees drifted around me like a song. I chose a spot under a tree, picked a wildflower, twirled it between my fingers and watched a litter of puppies playing in the sun. I laughed at their antics and named a few of them after the dwarves, making their tumbling and rolling around all the funnier. The morning was almost too perfect. At one point Thorin came to the door, his focused gaze traveling over the garden until he spotted me. I grinned at him and gave him a small wave.

"Do not wander off, Master Baggins."

"No, no. Of course not," I replied, and he vanished into the house again. Who could stay indoors on such a morning? I turned my face to the sky, blinking at the brightness and the intense blue, and a sweet calm fell over me. It was almost like being home, almost like the Shire. I hadn't felt such peace in some time. It felt as though you could breathe in peace, a sweet, clean aroma. This place wove a magical spell, and I let it soak into me and fill me.

A sudden movement caught my eye - ah! The ponies were outside the enclosure. They were magnificent. I had never seen such ponies. They tossed their long manes and trotted about, swishing their tails and dancing around each other. They were like the puppies, romping and playing, enjoying the warm sunshine and the soft breeze and their delicious freedom. I just had to be nearer to them, see closer up, so I stood and trotted towards the opening in the enclosure . . . then I was there, at the entrance way, looking out into the wide, wide meadow, and there were the ponies, gamboling about, black and white against the backdrop of intense green grasses and blue, blue skies. The animals positively glowed. It seemed I'd caught their interest. They paused and looked at me with their quick, intelligent gazes, flashing me glances that seemed to say, "Come out! Come play with us!"

Would they let me get close enough to pet them? If I went out amongst them would they approach me, or would they just run off ? I stood there for a moment, thinking, watching them . . . oh! They were too glorious. I had to try. I had to touch them. I just had to. Several of them were fairly close to where I was standing, only twenty or thirty yards away, so I slipped through the big opening in the enclosure and walked out, heading for the ponies. They watched me come closer, then they turned and cantered out towards a big flat rock just a little ways ahead where more ponies had gathered. That rock looked to be a good place to climb up on and pet them, if they'd let me, so I hurried towards it, stepping through the fragrant Shire-like grasses, watching those pretty creatures watch me. They boldly moved closer to me, their coats shining, their manes liquid and glistening, and suddenly I was at the big rock. I scrambled up and stood atop it. Ah! Perfect! Now I was high enough to reach their beautiful heads, close enough to touch their soft-looking manes. I spread my arms wide, right and left, and I stood still. The ponies drew near, giving me friendly nods and making gentle snuffling noises, their velvety noses reaching towards my outstretched hands. I was almost touching them . . . .

Suddenly they flinched, tossed their heads and drew back. I froze, wondering what on earth I'd done to frighten them. "Shh," I murmured, not knowing how to calm them. "Shhhhh. It's alright." But the ponies were already spinning and high-tailing it away from me as though they'd just discovered I was an orc in hobbit guise or something. "Wait!" I called out before questioning if that was a wise thing to do. "Wait! Please! Come back! I'm harmless!"

"But I am not."

I gasped. Two big hands grabbed me by the waist and yanked and I realized that it wasn't me who had alarmed the ponies.

"Get down from there!" Thorin growled, hauling me off the rock. "What do you think you are doing?" Seizing my hand, he began dragging me back towards the enclosure at a pace just short of running. I stumbled to keep up with him, gasping and grunting until I found my feet and enough wind to exclaim,"Thorin!"

No response.

"Thorin, please! Slow dow-"

"Hush."

This was absurd! I tried to yank my hand from his grasp, saying in my best Master of Bag End voice, "There is no need to drag me, sir. I'm perfectly capable of -"

"I've seen what you're perfectly capable of," Thorin snarled, ignoring my useless efforts to break free. "You are capable of ignoring my orders and warnings. You are capable of doing exactly what you please when you please with no thought of the danger."

"Danger? Out in this peaceful meadow? What danger? Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

He paused, reached back and swatted me hard. I squeaked and wriggled and wished I'd slipped my coat on before coming outside. Any cushion between Thorin's hand and my backside would've been welcome. He started pulling me along again, back to trotting, dwarf-paced. Of all the high-handed, tyrannical-!

"Let go of me!" I cried.

"Stop talking."

"'Stop talk'-? Thorin! You're making much out of nothing."

"Am I indeed?"

"Yes! I wasn't that far from the enclosure."

He'd raced us across the grasses so quickly that we were now more than halfway back to the gate. But he suddenly halted, dropped my hand and turned to me, and for the first time I caught sight of his face. Oh. 'Scary' Thorin. His scary look defies description. Small wonder the ponies fled. One look at that Scary Thorin scowl and no intelligent creature would choose to stay around. I'd have run, too, but I wasn't given that option.

He spun me about to face the meadow and stood behind me, and I immediately flung my hands back to cover my bottom. But Thorin just put his big paws on my shoulders and said, "Look. Look how far you were from safety. There." He straight-arm pointed past my ear. "You were atop that stone where those two ponies are now grazing."

I blinked. Yes, there was the stone and . . . oh. Oh, my. Well, when I'd looked earlier it certainly hadn't seemed to be perhaps, ummm, sixty yards from the entrance? Perhaps . . . well, perhaps closer to seventy yards away. No, more like seventy-five. I lowered my hands to my sides and squeezed them into fists. How had I managed to so utterly miscalculate the distance to that rock before?

"I make that roughly seventy meters," Thorin growled close to my ear. "Agreed?"

"Well . . .." I winced. "I-I guess . . . uh, yes."

This probably wasn't good. No. Not good at all. But, for mercy's sake! There was nothing here in this quiet meadow save ponies and bees and flowers!

"Anything else you wish to say?" Thorin grumbled.

Well, give me a moment to form some kind of defense and I might-

Thorin whisked me about, landed another strong swat, grabbed my hand again before I could even yell, "OW!" and started pulling.

"Move!" he barked.

I moved, amazed that just a few swats from him could produce such a sting. But reality was taking hold, bringing with it a healthy degree of concern regarding how this was possibly going to end up, or rather, where I was possibly going to end up. I hadn't forgotten what my first spanking felt like. I'd just stuck the experience in a corner of my mind where I stored things I didn't care to think about.

I did cherish the memory of Thorin's comfort afterwards. I thought of that often and I longed for it again, especially during times when I'd barely recovered from one terrifying situation before we were in the middle of another. It embarrassed me no end to have such thoughts, but when something frightening haunted me, or when I was exhausted, but too anxious to sleep, I'd feel an overwhelming urge to seek Thorin out, climb up into his lap and bury myself against his big body, feel his powerful arms around me, holding me close, making me feel safe, making me feel as though everything was going to be alright and that I could rest because he was keeping watch. I'd been Master of Bag End for some time, living my peaceful, quiet life, solitary, independent and, and . . . alone. Quite alone. Never touching others beyond a pat on the shoulder in greeting, or friendly handshake, and that taking place rarely enough. But Thorin's comfort was . . . well, if you haven't had a thing you don't realize how much you've missed it or how much you long for it.

So, no, I hadn't forgotten his quiet voice and his comforting warmth, and I did long for that again. But two powerful Thorin swats and I remembered all too well what came before that comfort from him and just what my bottom felt like after he'd finished spanking me.

So much had happened since that spanking. I'd nearly abandoned the dwarves after Thorin rescued me from the cliff, then growled that I didn't belong with the Company. I'd become separated from everyone and lost in the goblin caves, then forced to riddle for my life with that hideous Gollum creature. I'd gone mad with rage and saved Thorin from being decapitated by those horrible, horrible orcs, and I'd sailed on the back of a Great Eagle. And, oh yes, I'd found a Ring that rendered me invisible and saved my life.

Quite a lot to have gone through, and that wasn't even taking into account the so-called 'smaller' incidents and frights. All of it had a powerful impact on me. But right now all I could think about was an evening in Rivendell when Thorin Oakenshield turned me over his knee and spanked me. Now he was dragging me somewhere I felt certain I didn't care to go and he seemed a mite miffed. Not good. Not good at all. Digging in my heels and refusing to be dragged would likely find me once again slung under his arm and hauled like a sack of meal. That hadn't been much fun the first time and I didn't care to go through it again. Best to try reasoning with him.

We were back inside the safety of the enclosure now. He'd slowed down to a normal Thorin stride - meaning I took two trotting steps to his standard one - so although he still held my hand and kept pulling me along to some unknown destination, perhaps I could persuade him to halt and talk to me. Courage, Bilbo Baggins, Master of Bag End. You faced down Azog, his monstrous wargs and his savage minions. You can handle Scary Thorin.

"I-Thorin, I-"

"Quiet."

"But Thorin -"

"I said quiet."

"I just -"

"Silence, little burglar."

'Little' burglar. A bolt of alarm shot through me. Thorin sometimes called me 'Master' Burglar, but 'little' had a whole 'nother meaning. I hadn't heard 'little' burglar since that time. Nor had he called me 'little' grocer, two unique names that went hand in hand with memories of an extremely sore backside and trouble sitting the next day.

"But, Thorin, I-I-I-"

"Enough!"

Enough indeed! I huffed and demanded, "Where are you taking me?"

Once again Thorin halted and turned to me. He seemed to have calmed a bit now that we were back inside the enclosure. Still 'Scary' Thorin, though.

"You would prefer we discuss this matter here in the garden?" he growled.

I stared up at him. "Discuss?" I squeaked. "That depends on what you mean by 'discuss.'"

"I thought you would favor privacy," he went on. "'Tis not my preference. I would sooner handle matters this instant rather than taking time to seek out a secluded place away from any possible audience. Your choice, Master Baggins. Do you wish to have our discussion in private, or are you going to keep demanding my immediate attention?"

Well, put that way, no. No, I most certainly didn't care to secure Thorin's 'immediate attention.' That sounded ominous and not at all in keeping with this peaceful morning in this quiet garden where the puppies were still playing. 'Handle matters' also sounded distasteful. He seemed eager to 'handle matters' here and now, and as he hadn't described in detail what he meant by that, or even what he meant by 'discuss,' I reckon he thought I knew what he meant, and, well, perhaps I did. Much as I feared another spanking I had a greater dread of it taking place in the middle of Beorn's garden where anyone might wander out and watch.

I could just imagine it: A dwarf, any dwarf, comes out to sniff the morning air and there I am, bare bottomed over Thorin's knee, being soundly spanked. Said dwarf would run back inside, alert the Company and then there would be an audience of dwarves and possibly a curious shape-shifter watching Thorin turn my backside a shiny red while I kicked and cried and made a spectacle of myself. A shiver raced through me. No, thank you very much.

Given a little cool down time, however, Thorin might opt for a stern lecture about the dangers of wandering off and leave it at that rather than letting his current mood lead him into something that was, in my opinion, just plain unnecessary.

"Well?" Thorin quietly roared.

Only Thorin Oakenshield can roar quietly. Well, Gandalf can roar quietly, too. No . . . no, Gandalf just roars. Thorin reached for me.

"Privacy!" I exclaimed, flinching backwards. "If it's my choice then I choose privacy. Good idea. Uhh, privacy sounds good. I can wait."

Thorin narrowed his eyes and looked ready to revoke his offer in favor of dealing with me right here and now.

"And-And thank you for your consideration," I hurried on. "You're right. I-I really do prefer a bit of privacy for our . . . discussion."

A dark stare.

"I discuss better without an audience." And escaping the possibility of one was the most important thing right now.

Thorin snorted, grabbed my hand and began striding again, muttering, "I shall be doing the discussing. You shall be listening, little grocer."

Right. There it was. 'Little' grocer. I actually felt my backside start to tingle, and it wasn't because of the few stingy swats he'd already delivered. He dragged me along, my hand buried in his huge, warm, muscled paw, and it actually felt good, it felt safe, just that feeling, my hand tucked away, engulfed in his, just that alone felt so safe. And yet, that same paw had once scalded my backside.

My stomach clenched. And, suddenly, I began to get angry.

This was absurd. Thorin couldn't really be planning to spank me. After all, what had I done? I had strolled outside the enclosure a bit. Hardly a big, life-threatening deed. Perhaps he felt he'd been too lax with me of late and he was looking to assert a bit of authority. Perhaps he was just making a lot of noise when he really meant to simply give me a stern talking to. Perhaps a steady diet of mead, honey and bread was beginning to make Thorin Oakenshield cranky. Or perhaps . . . perhaps his upset was based upon what I suppose could possibly, just possibly, be interpreted as disobeying an order.

But had he really given me an order? And if he had, did I really disobey that order? He'd said, "Do not wander off, Master Baggins." Well, I hadn't wandered off. Not really. I hadn't taken a stroll around the meadow. I hadn't gone for a walk in the woods. I hadn't disappeared for hours. I'd been right there where Thorin could see me. Just a few yards outside the enclosure. So why was he going apoplectic?

Granted, I was a little further afield than I probably should have been, but this was a lot of fuss to make, even for overly-cautious-when-it-came-to-hobbits Thorin Oakenshield. I held my tongue, though. Wiser to wait and defend myself when he found whatever private spot suited him, at which time I would most certainly be a part of this discussion. Spank me indeed! For a mere stroll? What nonsense! I really wasn't prepared to revisit Thorin's knee.

The morning after our spankings, when Kili and Fili and I were talking alone, I'd vowed to them that I would never, ever again find myself in that position. They'd glanced up from their breakfast, eyes glittering.

"Never, ever again, eh?" Kili had said, the corners of his mouth twitching. He'd raised a brow at his brother. "Never, ever again, he says."

"I heard him," Fili murmured, studiously cutting up a piece of cheese.

"'Never, ever' is a long time, Bilbo," Kili said.

I'd frowned at them, remembering that Thorin had said something similar the previous night when I'd told him he wouldn't need to repeat his over-the-knee lesson: "We have a long journey ahead of us," he'd said, amused. "Anything can happen."

Fili offered me the cheese on the end of his knife, saying, "It's a long journey."

"Anything can happen." Kili grinned, snatching the cheese and popping it into his mouth.

Much as I liked Kili and Fili I sometimes found their manner of speech unnerving, especially when they echoed their uncle.

"I know that," I'd replied, rising above their poorly hidden grins. "Nevertheless, I don't intend to give Thorin cause to . . . to . . .."

"Spank you?" Fili said fondly. Kili abandoned all pretense and chuckled. For some odd reason they found it endearing that I struggled to say the actual word.

"Yes," I'd muttered. "To do . . . that."

"Never again," Fili gave me a quick and vexingly indulgent nod. "Right then."

"Never, ever again," Kili said, dark eyes sparkling. "Right."

Absolutely right. Right indeed! I couldn't imagine I'd ever need another spanking and I certainly couldn't imagine that Thorin was thinking of spanking me now. Not for something so . . . so insignificant. This was just his 'you've been naughty' demeanor, meant to intimidate me into seeing the error of my ways and apologizing for my behavior. I'd seen that look from him more and more of late. He frowned like that at the others sometimes, too, especially his nephews.

I felt anxious about this, though. I couldn't decide if I should allow myself to feel angry about his high-handed treatment of me or if I should be wise and polite and full of the kind of apologies that might calm him down. Both notions worked, actually, which seemed absurd.

Thorin towed me around behind the house to where there was a scattering of smaller buildings in various sizes and shapes. He'd apparently scouted them out as he headed directly for one particular shed and pulled me inside. I quickly glanced around: a wheelbarrow, a plow, other farming equipment, stacked barrels and crates and many of the gardening tools commonly used by farmers in the Shire. But, as in the house, everything was Beorn-size, and everything, including the shed, looked elderly and weathered, yet clearly well-loved and cared for.

"You didn't need to drag me," I muttered, still gazing around whilst trying to shake free of his grasp. "You could've trusted me to follow you."

Thorin shot me a frown. "I'm beginning to think that 'tis best I keep you right within my grasp, at the very least within my eyesight considering what happens when I turn my back and trust you to behave."

"Sir, that is unfair," I said, feeling increasingly indignant. "I have been as cautious, as alert, and as mindful of my actions as has any other member of this Company."

Thorin snorted, but he, finally, let go of me. I watched him stalk to the rear of the shed where he began digging through the stacked crates, searching, I reckoned, for something to sit on whilst 'discussing.' I turned and noticed that he hadn't closed the door. It stood open and beckoning. I glanced back at Thorin - still digging - then edged my way closer to the opening and peered out into the yard.

"Planning an escape?" Thorin asked.

I whirled to face him. Back turned, he was still exploring amongst the empty crates.

"No!" I exclaimed, even though the mad thought had been tempting me. I was a fast runner. If I somehow got to Gandalf, would he prove to be a valuable ally? Or would he side with the leader of our expedition? Was it worth the risk? It was the maddest of mad thoughts, but perhaps if I just ran and hid. . .. Lots of places to hide out until Thorin cooled down.

"No," I went on in a 'how stupid do you think I am?' tone. "No, of course not."

"Good. Because, consider this -" He stepped out from the pile with a big crate that evidently suited him, plunked it down, took a seat and turned a shrewd gaze upon me. "If you run, little burglar, I shall catch you, and when I catch you I shall turn you over my knee, pull down your britches and spank you right there."

I stared at him and swallowed hard, envisioning that statement along with a sudden, clear memory of how fast dwarves could run. Those dense bodies pounded along at an astonishing speed. I cleared my throat and muttered, "Well. As I said, I-I certainly wouldn't do anything so, uh, foolish."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, "however-" He stood, moved past me and closed the door. "Let's remove all temptation."

The shed was loosely constructed, letting in plenty of dim light, even with the door shut. Still, I never saw Thorin swiftly move my way. He scooped me up, carried me over to the crate and plopped me down on it before I could let out a proper squeak. But, I was sitting. Upright. And Thorin was merely standing in front of me watching me with a stern look.

Oh.

Ohhh. We really were going to have a discussion then. An actual 'discussion' discussion. Using words. Well, well. A strange feeling flowed through me, relief mixed with some uneasiness I couldn't place. It didn't feel good, and it seemed I should be feeling nothing but good. After all, I'd escaped a doom that had seemed certain. I perched there quietly, waiting for Thorin to speak, wiggling my feet as they dangled above the ground.

"I shall ask you again," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "What do you think you were doing?"

I knit my brow. What did I think I was do - ? Ahh. We were back to the meadow when he'd pulled me down from the rock. I looked directly at him and gave Thorin the most obvious answer I could give, which happened to be the flat-out truth. "I wanted to pet the ponies," I said. Surely honesty counted for something.

Thorin's frown deepened. "So you disobeyed my orders in order to satisfy your whim."

He had a gift for making a perfectly innocent act sound like a positively naughty deed. So much for honesty. I had but one defense left. "You hadn't issued an order."

"I told you not to wander off."

"But you didn't order me not to wander off."

I knew I was on extremely shaky ground, but when there is no other ground to stand upon, shaky ground becomes an attractive option. Linguistics was a perilous game to play with Thorin Oakenshield, and I wasn't enjoying it. It felt disrespectful, twisting his words in this petty way. But, again, I felt I'd been left with no other escape route. The memory of a scalded bottom hovered over me and that shaky ground trembled beneath me and I was stuck in between, still feeling oddly unhappy whilst enduring Thorin's stern glare.

He crossed his arms over his barrel chest and silently studied me for what felt like an age. I struggled to keep from drawing my fingers to my face and gnawing at my nails, a childhood habit I'd conquered years ago. Under times of extreme stress it returned, though. Now when I had the nervous urge to chew my nails I reached for my pipe instead. But my pipe was in my coat pocket and my coat was in the house. So I clenched my fists in my lap and waited for Thorin's response. In truth he'd only been watching me for about a minute, but a minute can be an interminably long time when a large dwarf prince is staring at you and he favors spanking as a means of communication.

Thorin leaned back on one leg for a moment, then he seemed to decide something and he headed my way with that same determined stride and that look of gentle menace. A jolt of panic shot through me. I'd seen him do all that before. And I'd forgotten that Thorin disliked preliminary chatter.

"No." I shook my head, clumsily scrambling off the crate. Running was suddenly looking good. Absurd, of course. Thorin was instantly on me. He clamped a paw on my arm, sat and pulled me forward to stand before him, locked between his legs.

"My mistake," he said, undoing my braces. "I should have remembered."

"Remembered what?" I squawked, squirming and trying to bat his hands away.

Thorin picked me up and turned me over his lap, saying, "I should have remembered that action works better than words with little ones."

Just like that. Just like that he'd done it as he'd done it before, and now I was in a position I told Fili and Kili I'd never be in again. Just like that! I was too horrified to do anything but wriggle and squeak, my arms scrabbling over the crate, which was oddly near the same length as the bench in Rivendell had been. Thorin held me stable, one great palm over my back whilst he pulled my britches over my backside and down my legs, whooshed them completely off, then balled them up and stuffed them under my face. And there I was again, just like before, stretched out over his lap, my bottom bare, the cool air touching my naked skin. I whimpered and tried to squirm, hugging my britches to my chin, dreading what was coming next. "No! Thorin, no! Please!" I cried hearing the panic in my voice. "What about our discussion?"

"Indeed," he said, sounding satisfied. "Let's begin it."

XXXXXXXXX

I raised my hand and smacked down, watching those soft little hills bounce.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "Nooooo!" he exclaimed on a desperate, low cry. I paused, distracted for a moment by the sight of his wriggling bottom. Such a small, round and pleasing bottom. I smacked down again, leaving a faint pink mark, Master Baggins continuing his objections.

"Ow! Please, Thorin! Please, please don't! Don't do this!"

I started spanking him with a steady, easy pace, a challenge considering how cross I was. "Hush."

"AHHHH!" he cried, then: "But-But, won't the others wonder where we are? Won't they come looking for us?" Ever thinking, my burglar.

"Ah, then you did not see Balin," I said.

"What?" he squeaked. "Balin? When?"

"After we stopped in the garden to talk," I said. "You decided you preferred privacy to having our discussion right there in the open. I began to escort you back here and he came to the door. He must have heard us. We exchanged nods and he went back inside."

"No, I-I didn't see him. Oh, nooo."

"So, no worries, little burglar. Balin is clever enough to see what was happening between us. Should anyone ask, he will make up a satisfactory excuse as to where we are."

"Ohhh, nooooo."

"But we are not far from the house and 'tis a quiet morning. The louder you yell, the more likely it is someone will become curious."

In truth, it was not very likely at all. Balin had already been awake and talking with me, but it was still early and my dwarves enjoyed sleeping late these days whilst they could. 'Twas also unlikely that mere wailing from a distressed little halfling could penetrate the thick walls of that house.

But it would not do for my burglar to become too distressed too soon. I intended to have a lengthy discussion with him and I didn't want him to work himself into an early frenzy. However, he was a most determined hobbit. He writhed about and kicked and wriggled so that, although I had only delivered about a dozen swats, I paused and began to shift him.

"Noooo! Don't! Please don't do that! I'll behave!" he yelled, clearly anticipating my intentions. Clever halfling.

"Enough of that, sir. 'Tis better this way," I said, tipping his bottom over my left thigh and closing his legs between mine. "I don't mind a bit of kicking. But you shall wear yourself out too early at such a pace and I cannot have that."

"I'll stop! I'll stop!"

"I doubt that." And I started spanking him again.

"AHHH! I will! I really, really will stop kicking!"

"I believe you would try," I said. "I doubt you would meet with much success."

"But-!"

"Stop fussing. I do not intend to release you, sir, so hush."

That threw him into a genuine temper. I let him yell. At least he was no longer bucking and wildly kicking, wearing himself down. I would allow him that freedom later when his bottom was a darker hue. Meanwhile I set up a steady rhythm of swats, spanking all over his wee backside, watching him and listening to him.

He was not yet crying, but he soon would be. My burglar now knew what to expect. The first time I'd spanked him he had no way of knowing how long it might go on and how much worse it might become. He was frightened in a different way than he was now. This time he was very much aware, and I expected that, like Kili, he would give in to his tears more quickly - unless he decided to take on Fili's stubborn resistance as he had last time.

He fussed about his position a bit more. That was alright. I expected no less from my outspoken halfling. As long as he remained respectful and didn't hurl foul language at me, I let him sputter. He did need held down, though, as he seemed surprised to be over my knee. Interesting behavior, given he had invited this spanking. Master Baggins knew me well enough by now to understand that nothing would get my attention faster than for him to do something life-threatening. He had done quite a job of that today.

What frightened me most was his ignorance of the peril in which he had placed himself. Oh, he knew what he was doing, but he only knew it deep down inside and that deep-down knowledge had not kept him from disregarding all safety and strolling out into the meadow. On the surface of things he had seen no risk. He had admitted it:

"I wanted to pet the ponies."

He had said it in the small, innocent voice of a youngling who is telling the absolute truth, confident that he's done nothing wrong. He wanted to pet the ponies. He hadn't thought much beyond that. He had behaved exactly the way a little one would have, following his desires, blind to the possible dangers. Nothing had existed for him beyond those desires, and my blood ran cold when I saw my halfling out in that deceptively peaceful meadow, so far from safety.

I should have ordered him back into the house when I'd seen him sitting under that tree. My failing, that. But he'd looked so contented, relaxing out there in the shade, holding a flower in those small hands and gazing off with a soft, wistful expression on his face. He waved at me, and I felt a sudden urge to go sit with him, perhaps even gather my halfling onto my lap and share the morning quiet with him. Powerful urge. But I brushed it aside along with a vague stab of uneasiness. He was safe there. He knew better than to go beyond the enclosure. So I left him in peace after calling out my short warning. Too short, it seemed. The next time I glanced out, my hobbit had vanished.

I'd charged from the house, barreling through the yard, hoping to catch sight of him there before I hit the gate. But I knew where he had gone. And there he was, my wee grocer, blithely strolling out towards a big rock so far from the refuge of the house that it sickened me. I raced silently towards him, not daring to call his name, watching with added horror when he clambered up onto the rock and stood there, an open target, spreading his arms and reaching for the approaching ponies. But those ponies saw me approaching, too, and they changed their minds about visiting this guileless little creature, inspiring the creature to be even more guileless and actually call to them.

"Wait! Wait! Please! Come back! I'm harmless!"

I clamped my hands around his small body and yanked him down, wildly tempted to hold him for a moment, feel him in my arms, safe. But we weren't safe yet, so I grabbed his hand and rushed him back towards the house, listening to his protests and pausing to swat him when he went so far as to proclaim in an impatient tone that there was no danger. Of course he thought there was no danger, else he never would have ventured forth, despite his urges. But hearing him announce such folly as though he had taken it upon himself to educate me about the safety of that meadow was intolerable. I was overreacting? Of course I swatted him.

He never stopped protesting, though, so when we were closer to safety I stopped and spun him 'round, enjoying the way he clamped his hands over his little round backside. Aye, deep within Master Baggins knew what he had coming. But when I pointed out how far he had journeyed from the house he stiffened and went still, then lowered his arms to his sides, his hands becoming fists. Every move my burglar made was telling.

Another good swat on that now unprotected bottom helped him focus again and I hurried him the rest of the way back to the safe enclosure of the yard where, despite the amount of trouble he had already made for himself, my hobbit evidently decided he wanted immediate attention and kept trying to start a dialogue, ignoring my commands to be silent.

Kili had sometimes acted like this when he was younger . . . sometimes he still did. When he felt in need of some care he behaved in an attention-seeking manner that oft left him with a sore backside. Fili would try to distract him away from his doomed path, but when Kili set his course there was nothing his older brother could do to deter him. Kili would push and push and push until he gained my undivided attention in whatever form that took.

Once, when returning to check on Kili after a spanking, I heard Fili's voice: "Why do you do these things?" I paused outside my nephew's door in the shadowy corridor, just able to peer unseen into Kili's chamber where he lay on his bed, curled up on his side. Fili sat propped up, holding his little brother's head in his lap and petting his dark hair. "Don't just shrug at me, Kili. Tell me. Why?"

"I don't knooww."

"Beleaguering Uncle when he'd told you several times that he was busy at the moment? You saw me signaling you to stop."

A pitiful sniff. "Uh-huh."

"And I know you saw what your badgering was doing to his temper."

"Uh-huh."

"You also knew what he might do to you if you kept that up."

"Uh-huh."

"And yet you -"

"I know."

"Then why-?"

"I don't knooowwww!"

Silence while Fili stroked Kili's locks, then my older nephew murmured, "Well, I think I know why you push. Uncle has had much to do of late. And sometimes when he has certain duties he takes me with him-"

"And he doesn't take me," Kili said, a pout in his voice.

"Kili-"

"I know, I know. You're in line to the throne, and I cannot always come with you and Uncle when you're doing kingly heir-like things. But I don't like being left behind."

A deep sigh. "Of course you don't."

"No matter." Another sniff. "Just the way it is."

More silent snuggling, then Fili murmured, "I think that when you long for Uncle's attention you do something to push him into giving you what you want."

"I don't want a spanking!"

"You want his notice, little brother. No, a spanking isn't exactly what you'd hoped for, but at least when he's spanking you he is focused entirely on you."

Kili tried to shift away from his brother but Fili muttered, "Stop that," and wrestled Kili back down beside him.

"Leave me alone, Fili! Go away."

"Should I?"

"Aye!" Short pause. "No."

Recalling that scene, I had halted and looked down at my wee yammering grocer. "Where are you taking me?" he had demanded in a tone unbecoming a disobedient halfling already headed for a spanking. When Master Baggins becomes worked up inside his usually flawless civility oft suffers. But when I turned and scowled down at him his eyes widened, his manner improved and he quietly listened to my offer to take care of things then and there.

"Your choice, Master Baggins. Do you wish to have our discussion in private, or are you going to keep demanding my immediate attention?"

He knew what I meant. Beneath his false display of ignorance regarding the word 'discussion,' my grocer knew exactly what I meant to do. His gaze held a hidden awareness that I sensed even he did not acknowledge. But he agreed that my plan to seek a more secluded place for our conversation was for the best.

Even if he'd surprised me and chosen to have our discussion then and there I would never have spanked my hobbit in such a public place. He was loud when I had him over my knee and his cries would have drawn forth my curious dwarves. Not all, but some, would have wandered outside to watch, and I did not wish to subject my halfling to the stares of others. I was unwilling to share him with an audience. I'd offered to hold our 'discussion' there in the garden knowing he would refuse the option. Refuse he did, most apologetically. But first he gazed up at me in a faraway manner, lost in thought. I gave him a moment, then demanded a decision, and when he still looked as though he was not really listening I reached for him, eager to move on and vacate the garden before someone disturbed us.

"Privacy!" he cried, flinching back. "If it's my choice then I choose privacy. Good idea. Uhh, privacy sounds good. I can wait."

Master Baggins is a singular mixture of wariness and extraordinary bravery. Pound for pound, few could match the remarkable courage of this wee hobbit. Yet he flinched when I moved to grab his arm. Again, he said much without saying a word. My halfling didn't fear me. He did, however, fear the spanking he knew he'd invited. So he drew back. It was an admission of what his underlying intent had been all along, and I struggled to keep the stern look on my face whilst letting him stumble through his apologies and pretense. It would not do to cast him a fond smile at such a time. I often found myself struggling in such a manner when watching my hobbit.

I had explored the various outbuildings around Beorn's house the day after we arrived, securing his permission first. "I have nutting to hide and liddle that will interest a dwarf," he had rumbled, with a casual wave of his hand. This shed was perfect. After pulling Master Baggins inside I left the door ajar just to see what he would do when my back was turned and I was otherwise occupied. I had no qualms about playing with him this way. My grocer had frightened me badly this morning. And, despite his apologies and his overdone politeness two minutes earlier in the garden, the moment we were inside the shed he once again began grumbling with an impudent air that just begged to be answered. Every time he opened his mouth he dug himself in deeper and revealed more about his state of mind. I enjoyed our back and forth about the folly of imagined escape, and I enjoyed ending it by closing the door, picking him up, carrying his light, compact body over to the crate I had chosen and plunking him down.

It was then that he said, "I wanted to pet the ponies" and went on to point out that I had not issued an actual order so he had not been obliged to obey me. "But you didn't order me not to wander off."

I stared at him, seeing him more fully now that I was no longer rushing him about. He sat perched on the crate, wearing the tentative expression of a tangled up little one who had invited something unpleasant and now wondered what on earth he ought to do about it. He seemed certain of what was about to happen, and he wanted it in part and in part he did not. Just as Kili always had.

I sadly watched him tighten his little hands into fists as he struggled to keep from drawing his nails to his teeth to ease his awkwardness and longing and confusion. He was ripping himself in two separate directions. And all this because he urgently wanted something from me.

So much had happened to him in such a short time, and he had braved it all with exceptional composure. Never had I seen someone change his temperament as profoundly as had Master Baggins. When I first met him, I would never have predicted that this rumpled, curly-headed grocer would become the loyal, fierce fighter he had proven himself to be. He had been keeping up with my experienced warriors admirably.

But now, suddenly, we were at rest, however briefly, and he could allow himself to seek something he yearned for, something he could not acknowledge needing even to himself. He sought what Kili sometimes sought. My halfling longed for the reassurance of knowing that someone was looking out for him, and that he was worthy of notice and care. He yearned for attention with a pure and desperate hunger, and he had pursued it as a little one did, completely focused on what he wanted with no regard for his own safety.

Very well. I would treat him as the little one he now was. Little ones ignored the dangers around them to get what they wanted. Little ones told the truth because they didn't think they had done anything wrong. And little ones, despite the futility, tried to run from the consequences of their actions. So when my little burglar realized too late that he had best try to escape me - much as he had the first time I spanked him - I grabbed him, turned him over my knee, undid his braces and pulled his britches down and off, stuffing them under his head.

And now, seeing his small, wriggling bottom turning slightly pink under my steady spanks, I felt the knot in my stomach begin to dissolve. He was safe. Safe within the enclosure and safe over my knee. Nicely secured between my legs to discourage too much kicking, Master Baggins was, for this moment, all mine again. And I felt the way I had the first time he lay over my lap, the way I always felt when I spanked my nephews for doing something dangerous rather than for doing something merely mischievous or disobedient. I felt settled, calm and satisfied.

My halfling, however, was far from satisfied. He was at the first stage of his spanking, the angry stage, a phase unique to him. My nephews felt no anger towards me when they went over my knee. They felt guilt; they felt shame; they felt regret; but they knew they deserved to be disciplined. When their guilt was oppressive they even welcomed it.

But my burglar had not consented the first time I spanked him. He hadn't seen it coming, so he had been shocked and furious and combative, his fear fueling his outrage. All things considered, he had deserved his fury, and evidently he felt entitled to indulge that fury again, for even though he knew that, deep within, he had provoked this consequence, he hugged his britches to his chest, braced himself up on his bent elbows and began a litany of protest. I spanked away, letting him release his objections, his "Oww's" and "AHHH's" and his familiar complaints until I heard him utter, to my astonishment, a Khuzdûl curse. Quite a nasty one, too. I paused, hand in the air, stunned. So much for forbearing the use of foul language.

"What did you say?" I asked him.

He froze, gasping. "W-What?"

"The Khuzdûl," I said, resting my hand on his bottom. "You said a word in Khuzdûl."

"Uhhh . . . you mean-" And he said it again, but in a questioning tone.

His hobbity voice lacked the guttural dwarvish timbre to do that word justice. And as he had, endearingly, somewhat mispronounced it I felt that he was repeating something he had overheard without understanding its meaning. I doubt any of the Company would have taught him that word. They were fondly protective of him, as they would be a loveable, if slightly reckless, younger brother. But, my burglar had grown closer to Fili and Kili after their spankings in Rivendell, so perhaps -

"Did someone teach you that word, little gutter-mouth?" I asked.

"What?" He swiftly turned and looked at me over his shoulder. "'Little gutter-?' N-No!"

"You overheard someone say it?"

He winced. "Well, y-yes."

"Do you know what it means?"

He studied me with a guarded expression. "No. I-I just thought it sounded good. And . . . And . . .."

He said it without saying it: 'And it got your attention. It got you talking to me.' I raised a brow. "And . . . what?"

"Nothing . . . I-I just liked the sound of it."

"Do you think it wise to use a word without knowing what you're saying, or whom you might offend?"

He turned back around, lowered his head and rubbed his brow on his britches-pillow. "No, sir," he muttered in a huffy tone. "I-I suppose it isn't. But-"

Again his intent was clear: He had achieved his goal, so did anything else really matter? I started spanking him again. "But, what?"

"But- AHHHH! Alright! Alright! I'm sorry! I-I shouldn't have said it!"

"Mmm. Indeed no. Well, do not fret. We shall handle it."

"Handle?" He tried to twist 'round and look at me again, but I pressed my elbow between his shoulders, keeping him facing forward. "Handle what?"

"Your inappropriate language."

"But-But, what's that word mean?"

"If you didn't know you should not have used it so freely."

"You aren't going to tell m-me," he said in a sulky tone, "are you?"

I had muttered that word to myself countless times since beginning this Quest, but I said, "I choose to refrain from using such language in front of my naive young halfling. It is unbecoming. Nor shall I stomach you speaking it, either. 'Twill be all right, though. No more fussing. We shall take care of that naughty gutter-mouth."

He tensed, growled low in his throat, squirmed again, then let fly that word thrice in a row, still mispronouncing it a bit each time. It was a similar challenge to the one he had thrown at me in Rivendell when I asked him what had happened with the trolls and he had snapped. And with his small tantrum he told me much - he was doing well enough to indulge his temper, he did not over-fear me and he definitely continued to need this.

"Perhaps I am not making myself clear," I said. Tipping up my knee, and lifting his bottom, I spanked the curve beneath his rounded backside, a swat for each word. "You. Shall. Not. Say. That. Word. Again. Understood?"

"AHHHHHH! Yes!Yes!Yes! Unnnerstood! Never! Never,ever,ever!"

"Thank you." I lowered my leg and went back to spanking his bottom, mindful of its rosy hue and careful of my pacing. We had some distance yet to go.

"Sorry! I'm s-sorry, Thorin."

"Thank you. What I taught you during your first spanking stands, though," I said. "Hold your sorries until we are finished, else we shall become drenched in them."

"B-But, I am sor-"

"Shh, little one. I know. No more fussing. We shall take care of it. After we finish here."

"Take care of - I still don't-"

He sounded close to tears now. Amazing he had held them off for this long. My stubborn wee grocer. What I had to tell him next would doubtless set him off again.

"Perhaps in the Shire you tolerate little ones using foul language, but dwarves discourage it in our beardlings. We find that a good soapy mouth washing serves as an effective deterrent."

His spine went rigid, then: "NOOO! No!No!No!"

"I should have washed your mouth out after I spanked you the first time, for lying," I said. "I gave you a reprieve, as you were already dealing with so much. But, be forewarned, little grocer, lying will also earn you a soaped mouth."

"No! You-You can't - I won't let you wash my mouth out with soap!"

"Let?" I scoffed lightly.

"NOOO!"

"I suspect you have rarely, if ever, experienced this?"

"AHHH!" He pounded the crate with a violence that left me concerned for his small fists. "You-You cannot do that to me!" he bellowed. "I'm not a fauntling! I'm an adult hobbit and I can say whatever I-"

"Fauntling?" I interrupted, lifting a brow. Given the context in which my burglar had used it I suspected its meaning, but hoping to distract him from his tantrum, I asked, "What's a fauntling?"

He paused, made a few sounds of frustration in his throat, then sputtered and said, "Wh-What? What? You - You threaten to wash my mouth out with soap then ask, 'what's a fauntling?'"

"'Tis no threat, little one," I replied. "I shall indeed do it. Now, answer my question."

"NOOOOO!" he wailed, back to pounding. "No soap! No, no, nooo!"

I gave him a few stronger spanks and said, "Settle down. Stop that hammering. There shall be no hurting yourself, sir. And I'd best not see you biting that lip." Master Baggins went still, gasping and releasing a few pitiful whimpers that tugged at my heart. I murmured, "Now, a fauntling is-?"

"Like . . . like a child," he said in a small voice quavering with upcoming tears. "A very little, very y-young child. A bairn. S-Some in the Shire call a fauntling a 'nipper.' And I'm not either one."

I grinned, enchanted. Fauntling and 'nipper.' Perfect.

"Please don't wash my mouth out with soap, Thorin. I-I won't say that bad word again. I p-promise I won't. I really, really won't."

Bracing myself against that pleading tone, I said, "I'm glad to hear it. However we must take care of what you already said so many times. I cannot leave such a foul stain in my little fauntling's mouth."

Master Baggins tensed all over, trembled, then burst into loud tears. It is an affecting thing, hearing whomever is over my knee yield and begin to cry. It wrenches them so, the surrender. Even after disciplining my nephews for so many years their first wails never fail to have a strong impact on me. But listening to my burglar let go was somehow worse. I stopped spanking him, feeling a strong urge to pick him up and soothe him. I resisted the temptation. We had the entire meadow incident to deal with and I couldn't stop to comfort him every time his crying moved me. That wasn't what I did with my nephews.

But, watching him bury his face in his palms to weep, I suddenly could think of no reason why I should treat my burglar as I treated my nephews. He was no dwarf. He was no relation of mine. From the first time I turned him over my knee Master Baggins had been an entity apart, and by the time I had finished spanking him we were both, as a pair, something new altogether. Neither of us came out of that spanking feeling the same way towards each other as we had ere I had taken down his britches, warmed his bare backside, sat him on my lap and comforted him in my arms. I now accepted my need to watch over him rather than trying to deny it and subdue it. I allowed myself to recognize that I cared about his well-being. On occasion, rather than taking myself off alone and glancing at him from afar, I sat at the fire and welcomed him sitting next to me. I talked quietly with him during the evening when he seemed unsettled and restless. I listened to him.

"Am I being bothersome?" he had once asked me when he had been comforting himself by talking at length about life in his beloved Shire.

"Not at all, Master Baggins," I said, relighting my pipe and his. "Go on. You were telling me about the Tooks."

I enjoyed these changing times with him, and he clearly enjoyed them as well. In many ways I felt I was at my best when I was with Master Baggins. But there were also times when I felt uncomfortable and withdrew from him again, deliberately putting distance between us. I would absent myself or become busy with something, anything, in order to avoid spending time with my hobbit. It felt both entirely right and entirely wrong. I was unable to fathom my shifting behavior towards him, and when I did try to reason the matter out one possible cause behind my actions made my blood run cold: I chose to keep him at a distance because I feared he would not survive.

No. I refused to consider that notion and stopped seeking an answer to the meaning behind what I did. There were simply times when I chose to enjoy a more relaxed closeness with my hobbit and times when I did not.

I knew he struggled with it. He would say nothing, but I sensed his confusion and his sadness and I'd sink deeper into dissatisfaction, burdened by guilt. Sometimes it built within me until I became short-tempered with him again as I had been in the beginning. It was, all of it, unfair to him. When I near lost him over the side of the mountain I went wild with fear and shouted something so cruel and hurtful that it stunned my dwarves to silence. I meant not one word of it, and later, lying in that cave, unable to sleep, I wondered if I said such things to him in an attempt to drive my halfling away from us and back to a place of safety. If he left us and returned to Rivendell he would survive. Oh, Master Baggins was clever enough to make it back in one piece. Evil was pursuing me, not him, and he had learned how to survive in the wild.

So when I saw my burglar stealthily preparing to leave I forced myself to lie still, longing in part to jump up and grab him and hold him safe against me as we slept. Watching him assemble his few belongings, then listening to the bitter hurt pouring out of him when Bofur tried to stop his escape were some of the worst moments I had gone through since my burglar joined our Quest. Afterward, when we emerged from the mountain and found him gone, my insides wrenched. We knew nothing about what had happened to him, but thoughts of my halfling lying injured or dead somewhere within those caves flashed through my brain and drove me mad. No. I chose instead the comforting thought that he had escaped. Still, I raged with grief and fury, again saying unjust things of him. I wasn't angry with Master Baggins because he'd been wise enough to leave me; I was angry because he was gone. Moments later all that was replaced with joy and shame when he reappeared, speaking so nobly about commitment and loyalty despite how I had wronged him yet again.

It was outlandish that after all my unfairness to him my gentle wee hobbit stood before a ferocious enemy three times his size and fought for my life. I never thought to survive Azog, and when I awoke to find Gandalf kneeling over me my first and only thought was for my halfling. Stunned by the wizard's words of assurance, I rose, pain lancing through me, and there he stood, my unlikely little hero, whole and real, sighing with relief and flashing his sweet, shy smile. That he should smile so after the risk he had taken! Had I been at full strength I vow I would have spanked Master Baggins right there atop that eagles' perch, right there in front of the Company and the wizard and the great circling birds. For a moment all I could do was bellow. But then I saw my halfling. I saw him looking heartbroken and small and miserable, sinking inward on himself, and I crossed to him and had him in my arms ere I had finished gushing out my apology, hugging him so tightly I near heard his ribs crack.

When we finally stopped that evening I sought my burglar out and sat with him again, talking quietly, apologizing once more for my injustices against him. He listened and gave me his typical smile and shrug, but I sensed in him a reluctance to truly take in my words.

He managed a few bashful expressions of acceptance, then he grew quiet, cleared his throat, cast me a tentative glance and said, "I - I should tell you that I-" He dropped his gaze. "Thorin, I . . . I . . .."

Suddenly I understood. He was trying to find a way to confess that he had nearly stolen away from us in the night. "No," I interrupted. "Shh. No need to say anything more. Whatever you thought to do you were driven to do. There is no need to speak of it." Frowning to himself, his cheeks red, he kept his gaze lowered and cast me a few quick sideways glances. So I leaned close to him and said, "Fair enough, Master Baggins?"

He sniffed a soft giggle, then chuckled, then looked up at me with that irresistible grin. "Fair enough, Thorin Oakenshield."

I knew my halfling had shifted much within me, just as I felt I had shifted much within my halfling. I tried harder to keep from brushing him aside, although I still felt uncomfortable at times. But I continued to watch out for him, even though Master Baggins had proven himself to be a brave and worthy fighter. That was an asset to us and to himself, but it was also, I started to notice, a liability. He began, at times, to act with much haste and little caution, as a youth tests his boundaries, and I started wondering if, like Kili, my burglar was craving my attention. I became even more watchful of him, waiting . . . .

So now, the ponies. Now he lay across my lap, crying into his palms, that plaintive sound going right through me, and regardless of what routine I used with my nephews I saw no reason to deny my halfling and I what we both needed. So I reached down and picked him up, gathering his small body close to mine.

"There now, shhh," I murmured as he shuddered and wept. "Aye, having your mouth washed out will be unpleasant. But 'twill be over with quickly. And the taste of soap will be far less nasty than the taste of that naughty word in your mouth, my little burglar."

XXXXXXXXXX

I seriously doubted that. But, although I dreaded a mouth soaping I was distracted from the thought by the feel of Thorin cuddling me. He actually was cuddling me, holding me against that solid body, his big arms surrounding me, his curtain of dark hair tickling my cheeks. And even though I'd just started crying, I paused to better take in where I was and how good it felt.

My backside wouldn't be ignored. It burned in that familiar way I'd hoped never to feel again. And Thorin wasn't done with me yet. We hadn't even started to discuss the meadow and the high offense that landed me in this situation. All too soon I'd be back over his knee, that big hand spanking down on my already stinging bottom. And there was no telling how long that might go on.

Part of the awfulness of a spanking was the helplessness. Thorin decided how long he would spank me and no amount of yelling, crying, kicking or wriggling made any difference. Nor did attempts to either reason with him or appeal to his sense of fairness. He evidently had none when a wayward hobbit lay draped over his knee. Dreadful, that helplessness.

Of course, I had to be fair and admit that I was to blame. After all, it was just one Khuzdûl word, one stupid, stupid word. I didn't even know what it meant. I was beginning to wonder if I wanted to know. Thing is, I'd overheard that word muttered by more than one of the Company, although it was clear they hadn't known I was nearby at the time. Dwalin seemed to favor it. Kili did, too. He'd been grumbling it once when I was coming up behind him.

"Kili!" Fili had muttered under his breath, nodding at me.

Kili had spun around, surprised, then said with a teasing grin, "I'm going to braid one of your curly locks and tie a bell on the end of it."

"I like the idea, little brother," Fili said, studying me and smiling, "but it might make it more difficult for our burglar to do his job."

"Don't care," Kili said. "At least we'd hear him coming. And he would look cute."

"He's already cute," Fili said, sharing a playful glance with his brother.

"Cute indeed!" I'd muttered, giving them filthy looks as they burst out laughing.

Thorin didn't yell or raise his voice at me for using that word, but the way he softly scolded made it clear that he was not keen on nasty exclamations. At least he wasn't keen on me saying them. I wasn't one to use such expressions much myself. Hobbits were, of a nature, mildly spoken and indifferent to colorful language. But Thorin had been spanking and spanking me and I'd been yelling and raising my objections and Thorin wasn't listening and he kept spanking and spanking and I became more and more frustrated and then, well, that word popped into my head and I thought I'd see what happened if I spat it out. It had just sounded good, and it felt good to say, kind of growly and dark - it seemed like something he might pay attention to if I said it, even though I wasn't sure I'd said it correctly. I hadn't practiced it beforehand.

Thorin certainly recognized it, though, and I quickly realized that there are some kinds of attention I don't want. If I'd known that one measly little word would set him off I'd have reconsidered my strategy. But when one is being held down and spanked and one's backside is smarting, one's ability to make good decisions suffers. And then he was asking questions about it and lecturing about using it and I lost my temper and, well, saying it three times sealed my fate. A soaping. And Thorin never did tell me that word's meaning. No matter. I hated that one measly little word, whatever it meant. It had earned me a soaped mouth, something I'd had done to me only once when I was a very young fauntling.

Fauntling. Clearly that name was here to stay. I suppose there were worse things Thorin could call me. 'Little gutter-mouth' wasn't amongst my favorites. But it was the way Thorin sounded when he called me these 'little' names - little burglar, little grocer, little one - he liked using them, and he said them with a tone of . . . fondness. He even said 'Master Baggins' with an undertone of fondness. And, strangely, it wasn't his scolding or his continuous spanking that had ended up shattering me. What undid me was his softly spoken, "I cannot leave such a foul stain in my little fauntling's mouth." My throat clenched and something warm burst within me and out rushed a few choked sobs and a flood of tears. And I really let go. I lay there, crying and crying, Thorin's purred 'little fauntling' echoing through my mind. He'd said those words with such quiet tenderness. I knew that side of Thorin now. He could still growl at me at times and say hurtful things. But I had a temper, too, and I understood that when he swatted me with his words it was Thorin's anger talking, or Thorin's fear, not Thorin's heart.

So, even though he was scolding me his voice was deep and warm and kind. Yes, he was handling me as though I truly was a five year-old fauntling, and while I prickled at it, another part of me felt comforted by it. Any hobbit with a shred of dignity would be outraged by such treatment, so how could I be feeling this way? I must be losing my mind. Who allowed himself to yearn for the kind of actual be-'littling' at which Thorin Oakenshield excelled? Why wasn't I appalled by it?

I had no answers for that. I only knew that I was feeling all over again what I'd felt during my first spanking, a deep, deep hunger for whatever magic Thorin was weaving. I wasn't wild about the spanking part. It hurt. I loathed the spanking part. But I craved the affection. The notice. The care. The special names that were mine alone. I longed for more, more, more of that special mine-alone attention. It made me cringe, but I couldn't stop hungering.

After Rivendell things had changed between us for awhile. Thorin seemed to accept me and notice me more. He seemed to know what I was feeling. Sometimes when my mind wouldn't rest and my fears wouldn't calm he would come sit with me, puffing his pipe and listening to me babble late into the night until suddenly I felt settled and all that remained was a cozy weariness.

"Sleep now, my burglar," he would murmur, easing me down and covering me with my blanket. And I'd close my eyes, feeling him still there beside me, smelling his pipe and hearing the soft popping puffs of his mouth on the stem until I dropped off.

Shocking, the powerful effect his notice had on me. I felt nourished by it. I relished it. So when he, for some mysterious reason, shifted back to his former self, treating me as he had in the beginning, I felt utter bewilderment. I didn't know what I'd done to cause the sudden change, and when I could see no reason for it I told myself that, well . . . well, it didn't matter. It didn't matter. Truly, how ridiculous had I become to care so much about his regard? I didn't need it. What he'd done - turning back into distant Thorin - well, it just didn't matter.

But then a deep, thundering hurt came, mixed with despair and followed by anger, piercing and cold. I went quiet inside, shuddering to admit even in my own private heart how wounded I felt. To have a thing you had so longed for suddenly withheld and for no apparent reason . . . I felt stricken. And I struggled to hide my upset from the others, sometimes without much success.

"What's wrong, laddie?" Balin had asked the first time Thorin pulled away from me. "You've not been yourself these past days."

I'd grinned and shrugged and pretended a calmness I didn't feel. "Just a bit weary. Not sleeping all that well. It'll pass. But thanks for asking."

I knew the clever dwarf hadn't been fooled for a moment, but he'd given me his squinty-eyed grin and ambled off, saying, "As you wish. But come talk to me if you like. There's others care about you, Bilbo. Don't forget that."

I appreciated Balin's gesture. And I felt a bit embarrassed to think that my misery showed. So I began to work harder at covering up my feelings and I tried to stop caring so much. Thorin didn't owe me anything just because I'd enjoyed a closer connection with him for a time. So . . . so be it. I was fine before he'd spanked me and started to care about me and I'd be fine again without that special attention of his. Fine. I was perfectly fine.

And then he'd swung back the other way, like a latch-less gate, and once again he became the thoughtful Thorin I'd so craved. I felt thunderstruck. He was back. Caring Thorin was back. Distant Thorin was gone. I hardly knew how to react. In part I wanted to shrug off his offered attention, hurt him the way he'd hurt me. That lasted about a minute, if that long. I didn't care about vengeance. I still craved his care too much for that. Thorin Oakenshield was paying attention to me again. I had no room in my heart for vengeance.

And that was how our journey had been going - back and forth, back and forth - caring Thorin, then distant Thorin, with no rhyme nor reason to any of it. At times he seemed to wrap himself in a cloak of dark despair and would frown at me in a 'keep away' manner I knew all too well. Then it would blow over, kindly Thorin returning. So, I'd learned to accept what was. There was nothing else I could do. I didn't like it, but I learned to enjoy the good times and wait out the not so good ones.

Thorin had been holding me now for just a short time, but the tightness in my stomach had already eased and my shaking all but ended. He hadn't held me like this the first time I was over his knee. He stopped several times to rub my back or to sit me on his lap for a short talk, but he hadn't held me snug against him, up in his arms, my bottom suspended above his lap. And oh, how I'd craved it! Thorin felt big and warm and safe, which made no sense whatsoever considering what he was still planning to do to me. I should've been, at the very least, anxious. He was going to keep spanking me then put soap in my mouth. Ridiculous to feel so content.

"Mmm," Thorin murmured, a deep rumbly sound in his chest vibrating into me. He gave me a gentle squeeze. "That's better."

I blinked lazily and said, "Thorin?"

"Aye?"

"Can't we just call it a day? You know, just talk without any more spanking?"

I don't know what possessed me. I hadn't thought about saying that. I'd just opened my mouth and heard it spill out. Doomed. I was most certainly doomed. Thorin went silent for several years, then he clasped my arms and drew me back to face him.

"Pardon?" he said, gazing at me with quietly amused astonishment.

I bit my bottom lip, watched his eyebrow shoot up, spat out my lip and said, "Uhh, nothing. Nothing. Never mind." Good job, Bilbo. Back up. Fix it. Very good. But then: "I-I just thought . . . ."

He stared directly back at me. "You thought . . . ."

I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn't seem to shut up. "I thought, well, the thing is, Thorin, you've already spanked me quite a lot."

He gave a chuckly snort, still staring.

"So I just thought we could, well, you know, sort of talk things over. Just talk. I-I mean we could talk about what seems to be troubling you."

I froze. I couldn't believe I'd said that. Clearly neither could Thorin, for now both brows shot up. He studied me, then he gave a determined nod and flipped me back over his knee. I was bottom up, facing my pillowed britches before I could draw breath enough to cry out, 'I'm sorry, Thorin! I've gone daft!'

"By all means, little bratling," he said, disturbingly calm. "Now that we have dealt with your foul language we shall move on to our discussion about what is troubling me."

Nothing quite compares to the feel of a warrior's big hand spanking an already spanked bottom. I had but one response:

"AHHHHHHHH!"

"I thought we were going to talk about what is troubling me," Thorin said. "Is that all you have to say, sir?"

Thorin addressing me as 'sir' at a time like this was never a good thing.

"I'm sorry!" I blurted out, clenching fistfuls of britches. "I-I dunno why I said that. It was a s-stupid, stupid thing to s-saayyyyyyy OWW!"

"No, No. None of that now. My burglar is very clever. There is nothing stupid about him and he doesn't say stupid things. He says unsuitable things, and naughty things, and impertinent, disrespectful things, but never stupid things. Understand, little one?"

And that's exactly how he was treating me again with his 'little one' tone - like a ruddy fauntling. We were back to this. No matter. I couldn't do anything about it. And he might be treating me like a fauntling but he spanked me like I was an adult. I'd forgotten just how hard Thorin spanked. I burst into tears again, couldn't help it. The first time he'd spanked me I'd fought my tears, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Utter nonsense, that. Thorin wasn't spanking me just to see me cry. But tell that to a hobbit driven to chaotic thinking by a determined dwarf and a stinging bottom.

"Yes!" I cried out. "Yesyesyes! Unners-stand! Never s-stupid."

Right then. Thorin didn't like the word 'stupid.' But, wait . . . didn't I already know that? How did I know . . .? Ohhhh, yes.

Fili and Kili were teaching me swordsmanship and I'd lost my grip on my sword, flinging it over my shoulder a good distance. I'd 'tsked' and muttered, "That was stupid of me."

"Don't let Thorin hear you say that," Fili said.

"He hates the word, 'stupid,'" Kili added.

"Really?" I said, studying them with wary suspicion. "Why in the world would he-"

Kili shrugged. "Dunno. But we learned a long time ago never to say that word."

"If you don't believe us," Fili said with his easy grin. "Try it some time."

"Pass," I'd said.

Now why hadn't I recalled that pertinent little piece of information before blurting out a word Thorin hated? Slit my own throat a bit there. Thorin didn't need anything more to inspire his efforts. His swats were just as hot and on target as they'd been the first time he'd spanked me. I sobbed into my britches and writhed and-wait. I went still. Thorin had stretched me out flat over his lap. My legs were free! I could kick!

"I shall allow a certain amount of that," Thorin said before I even started, "but if you abuse the privilege and kick too much I shall close your legs between mine and restrain you again."

I wriggled at the scandalous injustice of that. "H-How will I know when it's too much?"

"I will warn you first," he said. "I know it is tempting to kick those little legs, but you shall needs practice a bit of willpower."

Willpower. When he was spanking me? Now I'd heard everything. "Yessir," I sputtered, getting in a few solid kicks with my 'little' legs. Honestly.

"Now that we understand each other, I shall tell you what is troubling me, as you have been so good as to offer me that opportunity."

He slowed a bit, the better to secure my attention, I suppose. I was grateful for the gesture, but his big palm was still smacking down all over my backside and every smack burned, and if he thought that slowing his pace was going to help me pay attention, well, clearly it had been a very long time indeed since Thorin Oakenshield was spanked and he no longer had a smidgen of memory as to what it felt like and how difficult it was to pay attention to anything other than squirming and yelling. I responded in my favorite manner when in this position: "AHHHHHH!"

"Better yet, my clever burglar," he said, "you tell me why I am troubled."

Me tell him. I sensed a trap, some "tangle the burglar up in his own words" kind of thing. I wasn't in the best condition to play such a game with Thorin Oakenshield. I felt besieged, my bottom blazing and my mind growing fuzzy the way it had before, as though my speech was about to seriously suffer, and yet he was still talking in that steady, reasonable, insufferably indulgent voice. He'd already won whatever game he thought to play with me, and, galling as all this felt, there was nothing for it: "Y-You're troubled because I went out to s-see the ponies."

"Very good. And why does that trouble me?"

I kicked out, fed up with this loathsome toying. "Because-Because you're a-a -"

"Careful." Thorin gave me a stronger whack.

"AHHHHHH!"

"Careful now, little gutter-mouth. You have already earned one soaping. I doubt you would like another, now, would you?"

Another? No, confound it! I didn't want another soaping! Of all the-! I swallowed hard and kicked some more and growled into my britches. 'Little gutter-mouth.' I detested that name, no matter how fondly Thorin said it.

"And no biting. Any blood on that bottom lip and I shall become quite sorely displeased."

Ahhh, now those were words I remembered, and "quite sorely displeased" sounded just as chilling now as it had then. A hint of promised disaster. I'd be hard pressed to think of what could be worse than what had happened already, but Thorin never failed to surprise me. Who knew what he might spring on me next? I'd never seen a soaping coming and now-! No. I wasn't interested in sorely displeasing Thorin Oakenshield. Ever. So I couldn't bite my lip and I couldn't kick too much - according to whatever measure he considered 'too much' - and I couldn't mutter the occasional foul word, something I wouldn't have chosen to do anyway, but still didn't like being denied the right to do. Bilbo Baggins, besieged.

"Come now," he said, giving my back a few pats of encouragement. "You went to see the ponies. Why did that trouble me?"

I was starting to drift into thinking only of my sore bottom. Ow!Ow!Ow! was all I heard rattling through my mind. I rubbed my teary cheeks on my britches - they were going to be wet again, like they were after my first spanking.

"My britches are wet," I'd said.

"Aye. So I see. 'Tis plain where your face was buried."

"Master Baggins."

"AAHHHHHHH!" I lifted my head to yell. That had been a powerful whack! "OW! OW! OWWW!"

"Am I boring you?"

"N-No, sir!" I cried. "You-You were troubled 'cause you were w-worried 'bout me bein' safe."

"Indeed. Because?"

"Because it isn't s-safe outside the g-garden?"

"Is that a question or an answer?"

"I-I . . . I don't knowww!" Well, I didn't. And it seemed wiser to be honest about that. I knew what he wanted me to say. But the meadow had been quiet and peaceful and I still wondered if he was overreacting. It would've been smarter to just agree with him that it hadn't been safe. It shouldn't have mattered, considering where I was and what he was doing to me, but I wasn't sure and I'd just spat out the truth.

"Ah," he said. "Then let's clear that up. I showed you how far you had wandered from the enclosure and how close you were to the forest, remember?"

"Uh huh, but before you showed me that, I-I didn't realize-"

"Aye, and that troubles me as much as what you did," he said, spanking with a bit more vigor. "You were unaware of where you were and what you were doing. You were well within range of an arrow shot from those woods. You were close enough for a party of orcs to capture you. No matter how fast you ran, little one, they would have cast a net over you and my burglar would have been - my burglar would have -"

Thorin's voice wavered. He sounded . . . overcome. He'd gone quiet in the middle of his thought, and now he stopped spanking me and rested his hand on my bottom. Something profound had happened to him. I stopped crying, rubbed away the tears with my fists and listened to what he wasn't saying, then I turned and looked over my shoulder. Thorin just sat there, frozen, gazing off in a faraway manner, stricken through by whatever image he'd conjured, and I knew it was something he'd imagined about . . . me.

I didn't even think about what I did next. I just did it. I pushed myself up, turned, crawled into his lap and wrapped my arms around Thorin Oakenshield's broad shoulders. I hugged him. And he let me do it, let me climb up and sit in his lap as though he wasn't of a mind to care that I'd done it. I didn't know what to expect next. I didn't care about my burning backside. And I didn't care if hugging him in the middle of a spanking was a shocking breach of disciplinary etiquette. It might be entirely wrong, but it felt entirely right. And I guess it felt that way to Thorin, too, because he hugged me back. Tightly.

"You're r-right," I said, trying to master the trembling in my voice. "I-I wasn't thinking about anything 'cept wanting to be with the ponies. And you're right that it was dangerous. I see that. And I know I'm not sus-spposed to say it yet, but I'm sorry, Thorin. Biggest s-sorry. I made you troubled. I-I did it. And I know it wasn't just 't-troubling'. It was bigger than just 't-troubling.' It was much bigger." He held me for a long moment, then he nodded, and when he drew back to gaze at me he was once again that commanding, masterful presence.

"Thank you, little one," he said. "I was indeed troubled, though. It troubled me to see you needlessly endanger your life. It troubled me to see it happen again and again. And watching you risk yourself today for such a frivolous whim was more than I could abide."

He paused and studied me. "But you knew that, didn't you, my fauntling?" he said. "You knew full well what you were doing. You knew that if I'd come out to check on you once I likely would do it again. So you decided to leave the safe boundaries of the garden and go out into the meadow. It was a deliberate act to gain my attention. You succeeded, little one. I should have given you my attention every time you sought it with your risky behavior. Well, Master Baggins, you have it now."

I stared at him, barely breathing. It was true, everything he said was true. I'd known what I was doing, and I hadn't known. I'd hidden away from it. Maybe I hadn't consciously planned out my actions; maybe I hadn't thought, "I know what I'll do! I'll do this dangerous thing to get Thorin's attention!" But it likely looked that way to him. Of course it looked that way to him. Because that's exactly how it was. I had done things to get his attention. And he knew. Thorin Oakenshield knew what I'd done. He'd known all along.

I wanted to run away, run home to Bag End, rush in and slam my door and lock it and crawl under my bed with my favorite blanket and hide from his understanding gaze and everything he knew about why I did what I did. But I couldn't run or struggle or get away from him or escape this horrible feeling. I looked down, my vision blurring, and I buried my face in my palms and curled down over my lap, letting the tears come. I'd thought being spanked was humiliating, but it didn't compare with this. I felt more exposed than I had the first time he'd pulled down my britches.

I couldn't bear it. I had to get away. I quick-like tried to scramble from his lap but Thorin was ready for me and he grabbed me up and held me close again. I don't know why I struggled, but I kept at it, even though his muscled arms covered my back, locking me to him. I had to escape. This felt so, so awful, like an ugliness raging inside me. Why on earth didn't he turn me loose? How could he keep holding me, knowing what I'd done? I didn't even want to be with my vile self; why, oh, why did he?

"Shhh," he kept murmuring. "Shhh. 'Tis alright. Stop trembling. Shhh." Then: "Can you settle, my little fauntling?"

How could he call me that name? How could he say it with such gentleness? Nothing made sense, and all I could hear in my head was that ugliness: "How pathetic of you, seeking his attention. None of the others behave so disgracefully. Only you. The needy hobbit. You're a burden to him after all. He's being honest when he lashes out. You really don't belong with them. How can you face him again after this? Aren't you ashamed of yourself? He knows. He knows. He knows."

I heard Thorin sigh and mutter, "Very well." He unwrapped his arms and began drawing me away from him. I kept my eyes covered. I didn't blame him for putting me down and leaving me here alone. I didn't want to see it happening, though. I didn't want to watch him leave me and stride off. And tonight, as soon as I could steal away, I'd run, and I'd head home. I'd make it. I had my sword. I was fast. I could climb trees and when a hobbit hides no one can find him. I'd go home and close myself behind my door and hide there with my humiliation; and I'd stay away from dwarves in future and never again go on another adventure.

But - what-? Thorin was turning me back over his knee? I peeked through my fingers, saw my britches-pillow, grabbed it and hid my face there. What on earth did he think he-? More spanking? Now? And then Thorin began rubbing my back. Ohhhhhh, how I remembered this! I lay there, still shaken, and now baffled as well. But I felt myself relaxing; I couldn't help relaxing, and if that had been Thorin's goal then he'd once again proven himself to be a brilliant strategist.

After I couldn't tell how long, he said, "Good. Well settled. Now listen to me. Are you listening, Master Baggins?"

I nodded. Then: "OW!"

"Answer me please," he said.

"Yes! I-I'm listening."

XXXXXXXXXXX

I reached up and ran my palm over his curls, saying, "Am I correct in assuming that you are feeling embarrassed by your attention-seeking behavior, my fauntling?"

He groaned and said in a lazy whimper, "Please stop saying tha - why are you - why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because I like it," I replied, grinning to myself. "And it suits you. Now, answer my question."

He rubbed his face on his britches. "Yes," he muttered, shuddering. "I behaved s-shamefully, so I feel ashamed of mysel-OW!"

"You are not listening," I said. "I asked if you felt embarrassed, not ashamed."

"What's the differ-OW!"

"There is a great difference. Think about it." I continued to rub his back, watching him. Of course he knew there was a difference. My burglar was quick. It didn't take long before he replied.

"Y-Yes, alright; they're different, and-and yes, I'm emb-brarre-arrassed."

Struggling to keep the smile out of my voice, I said, "I understand."

Another soft groan and a sniffled, "Y-You can't. You. Can. N-Not. You prolly never did -"

"I used to do exactly what you are doing, little one, with my father and my grandfather. I went out of my way to seek their attention, sometimes in foolish ways."

He hiccuped, turned and lay his head to one side and peeked back at me with one sore-looking eye. "You did?"

I grinned at him and smoothed a few impossibly soft curls from his face. "Aye. Of course I did. Fili and Kili have done it, too. 'Tis not an unusual thing to seek the notice of one whose attention you crave. It is a compliment. You are very clever, little burglar. Can you not see it as such?"

I hoped he could, for when I told him that I'd known what he was about and had known it for some time, he had stared at me with wide-eyed devastation, then dropped his gaze, covered his face and bent over, curling down as though he could no longer hold himself up. I watched him with dismay. I had known this would not be easy for him, but I was struck through by how distressed he became. I doubt he suffered such embarrassment often, if ever, in his Shire. He seemed to be collapsing. And just when I could bear no more of this and was resolved to gather him up again, his trembling increased, a force building within him. I readied myself for anything, and when he, amazingly, tried to scramble from my lap I scooped him up and held him tightly, murmuring to him and waiting for him to calm. I hugged my halfling as my halfling had hugged me.

Several times after Master Baggins had done something daring Balin looked at me, eyes glittering, and said something about the courage of hobbits. But my old friend would have been even more amazed by the compassion of hobbits, or perhaps I should say by the compassion of my hobbit. I had been spanking him and lecturing him when I unintentionally led myself into a sudden unspeakable vision, and I became momentarily lost in it. I imagined my halfling in the hands of the monstrous orcs who had been threatening us, imagined what they were doing to him, and what I saw so horrified me that even though it was only imaginary I could not break free of it. Then I felt a small body pressing against me and a pair of wee arms wrapping around my shoulders . . . my hobbit was hugging me. I had been scolding him and heating up his backside, unpleasant for him, to say the least, but when he saw my distress my sore-bottomed little burglar climbed up into my lap and held me and tried to comfort me. I held him, moved beyond words, and I listened to him stammer through an endearing admission of guilt and an apology.

Now my halfling lay lost in his own ugly vision. And I would not stand for it. He was still studying me with that one peeking eye, so I patted his warm bottom to move him along.

"Fili and K-Kili did it too?" he asked in a small voice. "They did s-stuff to get attention from you?"

"They still do at times."

"Oh."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, little one. I do understand your embarrassment and I regret your suffering. But you are a good little hobbit with a kind nature and a large heart, and shame has no place here. Are you listening to me, my fauntling?"

He had turned away and was crying again, softly now, a sound of release rather than upset. "Uh huh," he said. "List-ning."

"And do you now ken that what you have done is no more than what others before you have done, including me, and that some are still doing it?"

"Uh huh."

"And do you know that you are not a bad hobbit or whatever wicked thing you are telling yourself you are, but that you are my good little fauntling?"

He wriggled a bit, clearly feeling awkward and bashful because of my wording and the name I'd become so fond of. I grinned, unable to stop.

"Uh huh," was all he said. "I know."

"Tell me what you know," I said, unwilling to move on until I was certain he took it all in, for when he thought on this later he would recall the truth of how I saw the matter and it would soothe him and quiet any fears that might seek to attack him. I patted his bottom once more, a bit more firmly now.

He huffed, endearingly irritated, and said, "I have a big h-heart and sh-shame has no place here and others, even you, d-did what I d-did and I'm not wicked things and I'm a good little fauntling."

He had rattled that off in haste and the last word obviously slipped out before he could snatch it back. He paused, shuddered and made a sound of clear annoyance. I chuckled. "Very good, little one. Listen to me; I'm not upset with you because of what you were trying to do. You had your reasons for seeking my attention, and we shall discuss those. However -" I stopped rubbing, lay my arm over his back and pulled him tightly against me. He went rigid at once. Pity, as I had just settled him down. No matter. What was coming next was crucial. "Before we discuss why you have sought my attention we must finish our discussion about the manner in which you did so today."

"We were finished!" he cried, wriggling around in a panic. "We did discuss-ded it! We d-diiid!"

Then he surprised me by wrenching his arm behind him and covering his bottom. I'm always surprised when this happens with my nephews. It's such a futile move. I grinned, then drew his arm away and held it at his back, saying, "Enough of that, little one. We were close to finishing before we were pulled off course by my vision of a certain naughty burglar so far from safety in the meadow."

"Nooo! Pleeeeeeeease don't spank me any m-more! No more spanks! Thorin! My bottom hurrrrrrts!"

"I imagine it does. Nevertheless, we shall finish the rest of our discussion, Master Baggins if we needs stay out here all day and into the night," I informed him in a mild tone.

We were, in truth, nearly done. But we had been interrupted at a decisive moment, and my burglar deserved more than a curtailed effort. He deserved the chance to feel as though he had fully atoned. Despite his warmhearted apologies when he was comforting me, I knew that if I ended this now he would go away feeling oddly deprived. He would never admit it, especially to his hot-bottomed self. But deep within his most private, thoughtful place he would feel that I had left something undone, and it would begin to gnaw at him. No. My fauntling deserved better than niggling uncertainty and mysterious sense of lack.

"But,but,but, please!" he said. "Can't we-"

"Call it a day? No. Talk about what is troubling me? Indeed. Time to finish that discussion."

And I started spanking his round, rosy backside again. I knew it stung. We had been at this, off and on, for awhile now. But I'd spanked him longer than this the last time he was over my knee, and with the same degree of force. Nevertheless, my burglar arched up, drew a great breath and sent forth a hearty wail.

"AHHHHHHHHHH! But we-we did finish! We finished! We diiiiiid!"

"Your stamina could still stand improving," I said.

"S-S-Stanima?" he said, mangling the word in a tone of outraged disbelief. "Stanin-ma?"

"Aye. Stamina. As I told you last time, we needs build yours up to a better level of endurance."

"Noooo we donnn't!" he cried, kicking out his indignation. "I don't want no stan-mim-na!"

"Mmm. I see." I grinned. He had already slipped down to a 'little fauntling' place in his mind, going further than he had during his first spanking. It made sense. We had grown closer now and he was more comfortable with me. If he was in trouble I would know it. I knew the sound of his crying, knew distressed crying from healthy crying. And my halfling was fine. He was sobbing and yelling and fussing, and he was kicking - within reasonable boundaries - but he was also backchatting me with a confidence I found both reassuring and amusingly unsuitable.

"As I told you before, we still have a long journey ahead, so although you might not want more stamina, 'tis best you start building it, sir."

"No 'sir!'"

I raised my brows. "What was that?" I asked giving him a harder swat.

"Owww! I-I mean, pleeease, no calling m-me 'sir!'"

Interesting. Well, he was far from a 'sir' now anyway. "Very well. As you wish, my little fauntling."

"Don't like t-that either!"

"I suggest you get used to it," I said with a sincere smack that made him howl. "And mind your manners, my impertinent grocer. You are in no position to dictate preferences to me."

He gave a few jerking kicks to express his displeasure then grouched an apology composed of more petulance than remorse. Surprisingly fair bit of fight remaining in my spirited hobbit who had apparently forgotten that apologies came after the spanking.

"Thank you," I said. "Picking up where we left off, you knew that I was 'troubled' because you had left the enclosure, but you seemed uncertain as to whether or not it was dangerous to go out into the meadow. So I pointed out how far you were from safety and how easily you could have been either killed by an arrow or captured. Is that a fair summary of where we left off ?"

He lifted his head and cried, "Uh huh! F-Fair. Fair summy. But - AHHH! Pleeeeease no morrre!"

I pictured him upon that rock, reaching for the ponies, arms spread wide - target practice for orcs. "A bit more, yes," I said, "but you are doing very well, little one."

More kicking, then a whimpered, "Th-Thankyouu."

"Do you now see how what you did was dangerous?"

"Uh huh," he managed between sobs. "Dangerous. Should-Shouldn't have done-ded it. Was big d-dangerous."

"It was life-threatening."

"Life-threnening. Uh huh."

"Last time I had you over my knee I promised to spank you if you ever again did anything life-threatening." I tipped him up and began swatting the pink undercurve of his bottom. "Do you recall that promise?"

He squealed and wriggled. "AHHHHHHHHH! Recall! Owww! Yes,yes,yesss! Pleeease s-stop thaaat!"

I swatted that tender area a bit more, then lowered my leg and returned to his now quite red backside. "You risked your life for a mere whim," I said, spanking more lightly and slowly. "I'll not tolerate that, Master Baggins. Nor shall I tolerate your hotheaded behavior. We both understand why you did what you did, but that does not excuse it. You cannot indulge your dreamy unawareness and expect to survive, little one. Remember what I told you before - I have only one burglar. I shall not allow you to risk yourself. Is that clear?"

"Uh huhh. C-Clearrrr."

I rested my palm on his burning backside and released his hand, grinning when he left it there on his back. I had a bit more to talk over with him, but my brave little grocer was tiring, so I smoothed my hand over his hot bottom and asked the same question I'd put to him after his first spanking, "Now, what have you to say to me?"

As before, he struggled to get anything through his weeping and hiccuped coughs. But that was alright. I began rubbing his back and his sore bottom, murmuring, "Shhhh. All over now. No more spanking. Shhhh. Breathe for me. Deeeep, slow breaths. That's it. Goood. My good little fauntling."

I should have felt ridiculous speaking to him in such a manner. I called my nephews by special names, but those names were not as 'little' in nature and sound. I could not seem to help myself with my hobbit, though. I enjoyed his special names. They did fit him, and when he was over my knee I used those names freely, pleased by how easily they spilled out of me. Aye, he had lodged a small protest earlier, but I knew 'twas merely a token complaint. If Master Baggins truly hated those names he would be voicing his objections more loudly and more often than he had been thus far. No, my burglar-grocer-fauntling-little one relished those names that I alone called him.

I reached over to pet his curls again and his crying slowed to ragged weeping and shuddery gasps, then he turned his head to one side and peered back at me. "Sorryyy," he said. "Sorry I-I went to petted the p-ponies. Should've listen-ned. S-Shouldn't have left the garden. Big-Biggest s-sorry."

I moved my hand down to rub his back, saying, "And why should you not have left the garden?"

Seeming to remember where his hand was, he drew it away from his back and brought it around to begin rubbing his eyes with his wee fists. "Danger-rous," he said, coughing to clear his raw-sounding throat. "Was life-thred'ning. The meadow w-wasn't safe. Orcs could've got me. And you told me, 'don't wander,' but I did. I-I disobeyed y-you. Sorry,sorry,sorry!"

I grinned at him. "Apology accepted, my burglar," I said, eager to scoop him up and hold him. He was settling down well where he was, though, and I had one more question for him. My halfling was still new to this and I needed to make certain he understood an essential truth. So I rubbed his back and his bottom, calming him further by murmuring words of comfort, and when he lay boneless and melted over my lap, I asked, "Am I angry with you, my little fauntling?"

He studied me for a long moment, then he dropped his gaze. I watched him think. "No," he said. He turned his eyes on me again. "No. N-Not angry at me, Thorin Oakenshield. Y-You were angry 'bout w-what I did."

I cannot say what surprised me more, the fact that he answered so flawlessly or that, amidst his endearingly stammered 'little fauntling-speak' he had managed to say my name without tripping over it. I smiled down at him. "Aye. Very good," I said. "I am not, nor was I ever, angry with you. I was angry about what you did, putting yourself in danger."

He nodded. "Yessirr. And they're big-ly differ-rent."

Chuckling under my breath at his wording, I said, "'Big-ly' indeed. Well said, little one. And now you have taken your spanking and said your sorries and all is forgiven. 'Tis over and done with. I am proud of you, my burglar." My praise triggered fresh tears, as it often did from my nephews - 'good' tears, as Kili had dubbed them.

"Th-Thank you."

I thought of the first time I spanked him and how I had longed to hold him afterward. Instead I'd walked away, leaving him alone and uncomforted, a crucial error in judgment nearly costing me my hobbit's trust. I vowed to never again abandon him after a spanking. So now, unable to hold back a moment longer, I picked up my boneless halfling and held him close. He drew a deep breath, then a quiet sigh shuddered through him and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. Holding him this way was unique to the two of us. After spanking my nephews I would embrace them and console them, but that was a far cry from gathering this little one in my arms when he was weeping and upset and needing to be held. I cannot recall how I'd been able to resist this the first time. I enjoyed my new closeness with him, and earlier, when I scooped him up to comfort him, I realized that, from the time of his first spanking until now, I had begun to crave holding my burglar as much as he clearly craved being held.

Now I knew why I'd been withdrawing from him. It was simple. But, just as my burglar had been unable to admit to himself that he'd been seeking my attention, I had been unable to admit to myself how much this little one now meant to me. It all went back to that whispered notion: I chose to keep him at a distance because I feared he would not survive. If I cared too much about him it would hurt too much to lose him. So when I sensed I was growing too close to my burglar I backed away from him thinking to spare myself the pain of his possible loss. A rush of shame burned through me. I had been cowardly and self-serving. I never used to entertain such gruesome imaginings. Life was brutal and loss was part of it.

But Master Baggins had shifted much within me. We were, indeed, changed together. I could lie to myself and try to push away the truth all I liked, but I had grown fond of my little fauntling, and in trying to spare myself any possible future pain I had been causing him pain every time I withdrew from him. Unacceptable.

I realized I was rocking my body slightly back and forth. He was clearly enjoying it. Burrowed in against my shoulder and snuggling his head under my hair, he was breathing evenly, calm and settled.

I gave him a squeeze and said, "Still awake?"

He croaked a soft, "Uh huh."

I waited a moment, then said, "I have been thinking of your first spanking today."

"Me, too."

"What I said still stands: No matter what you have done, my burglar, you cannot disappoint me. And, as you just said, I may be angry, especially if you have endangered yourself needlessly, but I shall be angry because of what you did, not angry with you."

"Uh huh."

"Then you also remember my promise: When you have been disobedient I shall not turn away from you, nor dismiss you, nor leave you alone with your guilt. I shall spank you, then let you say your sorries and all will be forgiven."

"I 'member. And you kept your p-promise."

"Aye, little fauntling. And I always will. You can count on that."

"I'm glad. I-I mean . . .." He paused a moment, thinking. "I-I'm glad you're there and . . . and . . . I-" He paused to think, then huffed and rubbed his face on my shoulder, clearly frustrated. "I don't like getting s-spanked, but, deep inside, I'm glad you won't let me d-do anything life-thred'ning. I-I know I do things and I shouldn't be reck-kless, and you're right, I . . . I do it to get your attention, but, I . . . I don't think about that, I just do it, and-and-"

He paused to huff again, struggling. I patted his taut back and murmured, "Shhh. 'Tis alright. Take a breath. You are doing so well."

He sighed, his tension easing a bit, then: "It-It's hard to say this, because I love being on this adventure, but sometimes . . . sometimes, with all the scary orcs and the scary other things that keep happening, I-I feel safe when you see me do things I sh-shouldn't do and then make me stop. I-I know that doesn't make sense. And I 'special-ly like . . . this." He gave me a quick hug, then he went quiet for a long moment and finally he buried his face against my shoulder again and released a long, low groan.

I also went quiet, moved by what he had said. He had shared his deeply private thoughts. Some he could scarce confess even to himself, much less to me. It was an extraordinary act of trust and courage. As Balin had said, the courage of hobbits. Had my burglar been in a less 'little' frame of mind I wondered if he could have been so honest about so much. He seemed to be fighting to sputter it out quickly ere full awareness of what he was saying caught up to him. But now he had plainly lost the race and he shuddered with embarrassment, awash with second thoughts.

I hugged him back, saying, "I 'specially like this, too, little one. And I am proud of you yet again. You told me something that was hard to talk about. I appreciate your trust in me. And I understand what you are saying."

He drew back and looked at me. "You do?" he asked with a searching gaze.

"Aye. You bespoke yourself well," I said. "Come. Sit and talk with me." He gave a whimper of protest, but I pulled his languid body away from mine and lowered him with care on my lap.

"Owwwww!" he exclaimed, arching and squeaking, his back rigid. "Ow!Ow!Ow!"

"Would you prefer to lie over my lap?" I asked, swallowing my chuckle.

He wiggled around, seeking a comfortable perch whilst thinking over my offer and casting me an accusing glance from the corner of his eye. Now I allowed myself the chuckle.

"'Tis no use looking at me as though I have maltreated you, little one," I said. "Did I drag you into the meadow against your will?"

Ever fair-minded, my burglar winced and said, "No, s-sir. You din't. Sorry. I'll-I'll stay here, sitting up, thank y-you."

"My brave hobbit," I said with a grin. I was in danger of grinning myself silly today. I began to rub his back again, triggering a low purring sound from deep in his throat. He gazed off, his eyes half-open and unfocused, and when he felt settled, I said, "I was impressed by everything you told me. Why did you say that it made no sense? I thought it made a great deal of sense."

He blinked from his stupor, saying, "Well, I . . . I didn't say it too g-good. I couldn't seem to say it gooder. It was hard to say."

"Indeed it was. But you did say it. And you said it well. It was a very brave thing to do."

He 'tsked' and looked away. "Brave," he muttered. "Why 'brave?'"

"When you know something is going to be difficult, or scary to do, and you do it nonetheless, you are being brave," I said. "You struggled, but you persevered. Aye, you were brave indeed, my fauntling."

Eyes downcast, he picked at the edge of his long shirt pooling over his lap. "I said . . . a lots."

"I am glad you did say a lots," I said with a small grin. "The more you said the better I understood. You told me that you sometimes do certain things so that I will notice and put a stop to it, and that you feel safe when I do."

He groaned, covered his face with his hands and hunched over again. "Can we please s-stop talking 'bout this now?" he said.

"No. Come, little one. Sit up and listen to me. This is important." I helped him straighten and pulled his hands away from his face, holding them between mine, little good it did me. My stubborn halfling kept his gaze lowered and sat with an air of sulky detachment. I thought for a moment, then said, "When Fili and Kili were younger they sometimes used to stray too far from home, hunting, or so they would try to tell me later when they faced me."

He looked up and studied me with his puzzled little frown and knit brow. "They weren't hunting?"

"Aye, they were. But there was plenty of game within the safe boundaries I had given them."

"Then why did they go too far?"

"Because they were doing more than just hunting. They were testing their boundaries. Do you know why?"

He shook his head in a quick, half-hearted manner, as though trying to deny that he knew the answer.

"They wanted my attention," I said. "When they decided to test their boundaries they would misbehave or do something they knew was forbidden to them. And if I did not respond right away they would push their boundaries more and more until they had what they wanted. They were seeking consequences for their actions. They wanted me to see what they were doing, and to make them stop."

"Like I just did," he murmured.

"Aye, my little fauntling," I said, releasing his hands to brush the curls from his eyes. "Like you did today in the meadow."

"So you'd spank them?"

"Aye. And they knew what to expect when they misbehaved." I lightly patted his bottom. "As you did."

He hurriedly said, "But I don't like to be spanked."

"Neither do they," I said, fighting a grin. "Trust me, little one; they hate being spanked. Nevertheless, they would test their boundaries any way they could until they earned my attention and ended up over my knee. They do so to this very day."

"Like with the trolls," he said.

"Indeed. They disobeyed my orders to guard the ponies and scouted around instead. They told themselves that they were adults; they were able to make decisions on their own; they were trying to be helpful. But deep inside Fili and Kili had another reason for what they did, a reason they kept hidden even from themselves."

"Like I just did," he said again.

"Aye. Fili and Kili were seeking my attention."

"Testing their boundaries."

I patted his knee. "They needed to be reassured that I was watching over them, that I cared enough to discipline them when they chose to ignore my orders. I've given them rules and boundaries, and when they disobey and I enforce those boundaries . . .."

"They feel safe," he murmured.

"Aye. They need to know that I'm there, as I have ever been there for them. Sometimes they seek my attention because they think I have been too busy and neglectful of them. Sometimes they do something appalling just to see what will happen, even though they know the consequences if they're found out. And sometimes they need attention simply because they need attention. There is nothing wrong with that."

He watched me with wide-eyed fascination. "You said that you feel safe when I see you do things that you know you shouldn't do," I said. "You feel safe when I make you stop, and you said that this made no sense. But it makes a great deal of sense, my fauntling. You are a long way from home. You were not trained to be a warrior, yet you have faced monstrous evil and bravely battled it. You are ever needing to adjust to the ways of a people not your own. You are doing things and seeing things you never imagined possible, some of it most terrifying. And through it all you have shown yourself to be patient and accepting and courageous, even heroic. You are an asset to the Company."

His cheeks grew rosy from my praise. Incredibly modest, my hobbit. I doubt he gave much thought to all he had been through and how well he had been doing.

"Thank y-you," he murmured.

I gave him a soft grin and ruffled my hand through his curls, then said, "There are times, however, when everything becomes overwhelming and you long for the comfort of safe boundaries, as my nephews do. 'Tis easy to understand why. Aye, you are a grown-up hobbit, but there is also a little fauntling inside, and at times you feel frightened and alone and you long to feel comforted. Just like Fili and Kili, you feel safe in knowing that someone is watching over you and cares about you, and that someone will pull you back and discipline you when you go too far. Of course you would seek out that safety and comfort, despite the consequences. So I think what you told me makes a great deal of sense. Can you see that, my burglar?"

Still pink-cheeked, he gazed off past my shoulder, thinking. "Yes," he said, "I-I see, and it makes sense. You're right." He nodded, but an uneasy shadow flickered in his eyes. He darted me a sideways glance then looked down at his lap again, little fingers nervously working the hem of his shirt.

"There is nothing wrong with needing attention," I said, feeling I could not say this enough, "nothing wrong with wanting safety and comforting, especially when you are feeling alone and abandoned, as you have been, my fauntling."

His head shot up and he looked at me, curious. What I had to say now would be difficult, but I was eager to say it. There were things I could never tell him as they would bring him more pain than comfort. I would never be so callous as to admit that I'd withdrawn from him because I feared losing him. Not only would it be cruel and morbid, but Master Baggins would turn it around and assume the blame for making me so uncomfortable. I knew him. He would seek to protect me as he had from Azog's minions, even if it meant foregoing my company in future and withdrawing from me as I did to him. I rubbed my palm over his knee, thinking over my next words.

XXXXXXXXX

The first time he spanked me he left me, then came back and apologized for leaving me alone and uncomforted afterwards. I thought it amazing that he so willingly apologized like that. Now I sensed that he was preparing to once again tell me he was sorry. There was that look of raw honesty in his eyes, the same look I first saw atop a high eagle's perch when, bloodied and battered and just roused to consciousness Thorin apologized for doubting me. He had apologized to me several times since, and he was always so decent about it, blurting out his sorries with straightforward certitude and not a moment's hesitation. Being able to humble oneself is a sign of greatness. It explained why Thorin Oakenshield could acknowledge an offense more willingly than several hobbits of my acquaintance. So now I waited, barely breathing.

"I've been letting you down, little one," he said. Then he hesitated, staring at me in a faraway manner, as if thinking too hard to really see me. I waited, feeling jittery and uneasy, hating watching him struggle. I didn't want him to explain anything to me if it was hard for him. I didn't. I again longed to cry out, 'Can we please stop talking about this now?'

But he lifted his chin, clearly ready to go on, and said, "I think you'll agree with me that since your last spanking you and I have become more companionable."

'Companionable.' Not, 'you and I have become closer,' but 'you and I have become more companionable.' Nothing wrong with what he said, but, honestly! Sometimes Thorin's archaic manner of speaking was too endearing. It was. It truly was endearing.

"Yes." I nodded. "Companionable."

"We have spoken late at night, sharing a pipe while you told me stories about your home and your people, and I've enjoyed our time together."

"Me, too," I said, swallowing 'round a sudden sore lump in my throat. He studied me, then his big palm began moving over my back again. I hadn't realized he'd stopped rubbing, but oh, how I loved him starting up again! I eased back against his hand, my fists unknotting around the crushed hem of my shirt.

"But sometimes I've withheld my companionship, letting you down when perhaps you were hoping for a listening ear and some company. I left you alone after promising not to do so. Aye, the conditions of my promise were different. But withdrawing from you, ignoring you, is just as wrong as leaving you uncomforted after a spanking. I apologize for doing so, little one."

I couldn't bear this. He wasn't apologizing for doubting me or abandoning me after a spanking. This went to a deeper place between us, and hearing Thorin Oakenshield say he was sorry for failing to pay enough attention to me made me want to writhe out of my skin. I truly could not bear it. I began squirming from his lap again, moving so swiftly this time that I caught him off guard and nearly succeeded. My feet actually hit the ground before he grabbed me under my arms, saying, "And just where do you think you are going?"

I had no idea, and I hoped he wasn't expecting an answer because I didn't have one. He hauled me up whilst I yammered as fast as I could, slipping back into that mortifying 'little fauntling speech' I thought I'd moved beyond: "No need to 'pol'gize. Please d-don't. 'S alright. Don't worry 'bout it. 'S fine. I-I'm fine. Don't hafta 'pol'gize." And whilst I cringed at what was spilling from my mouth he plunked me, with considerable firmness, back down on his lap. "EEEE!" I squealed and cupped the part of my bottom I could grab.

"Settle down, little burglar," he said. My backside freshly stinging, I kept squirming, none to eager to possibly hear any more sorries. "Very well," he muttered in a decisive voice.

He picked me up, flipped me over and two seconds later I lay face down across his lap again, one large palm on my back, rubbing again, one on my bottom. Well, this was familiar. He'd done the same thing after my first spanking. He'd returned, picked me up and turned me over his knee to calm me down and talk to me. Merciful lands! Odd post-spanking ritual we were forming.

"Don't make me swat this little red backside, Master Baggins," he said in a softly stern voice. "I vow you would not enjoy it. Settle. Down."

I settled down, drawing several large breaths. He was right in his droll understated way - I surely wouldn't enjoy more spanking. "Sorry," I exclaimed, a shiver racing across my skin. "I'll be good now."

He patted my bottom. "You are always good, my fauntling. But, as you seem uncomfortable sitting up and facing me, we shall continue our talk like this."

"Yessir." If Thorin was going on with more of this apologizing I'd rather bury my face in my balled up britches than look at him . . . as long as . . .. "No more spankin'?" I asked, sounding every bit like the fauntling he kept calling me.

"Not unless it is called for."

"I-I won't call for it."

"Then I shall restrain myself, however you do present me with a tempting target, Master Baggins." He patted my bottom a few more times. He certainly seemed to enjoy doing that. "There may be no more spanking, but I'll not hesitate to award a swat or two to any uncooperative young hobbit. Understood?"

"Unnerstood. I mean, un-der-stood." Enough of this. If I could think like a grown-up I could very well talk like one. I lay braced up on my elbows, head bent, waiting.

"Good," he said. "A moment ago you said I didn't need to apologize, but I do, little one. I have wronged you. You deserve better than to be treated kindly one moment and shoved aside the next, to be left alone, wondering why I'm suddenly indifferent to you and what you might have done to cause it. You are worthy of my attention any time you feel the need of it." He paused and released a long quiet sigh. "My withdrawal was never due to anything you did or failed to do, little burglar. You did nothing to cause it. The problem was mine alone, but you felt the brunt of my troubles. It was unfair of me to treat you as I did. So, you see, I do owe you an apology. I truly am sorry."

I stared down at my britches, and this time I made myself really listen to him and think about what he was saying. He knew. He knew he'd been pushing me aside. And he said it wasn't my fault! It wasn't because of something I'd done. He'd withdrawn from me because of some private something churning inside him that made him act that way towards me. As to what that something was, who knew what drove Thorin Oakenshield? I couldn't begin to imagine the pressures bearing down on him. But I wasn't the cause. I hadn't done anything to drive him away. A hot flood of relief shuddered through me and my vision blurred, his words echoing 'round in my head. He didn't like what he'd been doing to me. He felt bad about it. And he'd said, "You are worthy of my attention any time you feel the need of it." My throat burned and I felt trembly inside and I started to cry big silent tears, some so heavy they tumbled from my eyes, skipped over my cheeks and plopped straight down onto my britches.

"Are you alright, my fauntling?"

His voice was deep and warm, his legs solid under my body, his big, heavy hand smoothing over my back, the other resting on my hot, bare backside, and at that moment I felt much, much more than just alright. I nodded my head and smushed my face into the damp cloth of my no-doubt unwearably wet britches, wiping the fresh tears from my cheeks. He felt bad enough without having to put up with more crying.

"Talk to me," he said. "Are you alright?"

"Uh huh. Fine, th-thank you. How'r you?"

He made a small chuckly sound and patted my bottom again, saying, "That wouldn't be a lie, now would it, my little burglar? You already have one soaping coming. Are you daring to risk another?"

"No! No, I'm not daring! I-I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"But you are crying."

Well done, Bilbo. I sniffed and rubbed my face on my britches. "Uh huh. But I'm fine. Finest of fine."

"Finest of fine," he repeated with a grin in his voice. "Mmhmm."

But I heard something else in Thorin's voice, too, something I couldn't place. And I suddenly wondered what he must be feeling right now. When I'd told him my private thoughts he'd praised me and called me brave. I couldn't very well praise Thorin Oakenshield and call him brave. A burglar tell a great dwarf Prince that he was brave? It seemed unbearably awkward. Such praise was the kind of thing you told to a little one. And for all I knew Thorin didn't consider his confession to be difficult, so he wouldn't consider it brave. Well, I thought it was brave of him to admit what he'd been doing and why, and to apologize for something he wasn't proud of having done. Now his words hung between us, and he sat there, unflinching, waiting for my reaction. Oh, my, but Thorin Oakenshield was brave.

I braced myself up on my arms and twisted 'round, and he turned, his gaze meeting mine, and there it was again, the look Thorin had worn atop the eagle's perch when he'd said to me, "I am sorry I doubted you." Everything he was feeling was in that . . . that vulnerable look, a glimpse of his protected inner self. And suddenly it didn't matter if he was a great majestic prince and I was just a burglar. He was a person who had revealed something about himself and was now looking at me, waiting, seeking forgiveness. Thorin Oakenshield awaiting my forgiveness. A tremor of compassion and concern shot through me. I scrambled back up into his lap, silently fighting my wince. Once again, he allowed it, trusting me, watching me with that unguarded expression still in place. I put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Thank you for explaining. That means a lots to me."

He flashed a quick wry half-grin and raised a brow. "A 'lots?'"

I grinned back. "Uh huh." Most of the 'little fauntling' speech had fallen away, but I'd said 'a lots,' hoping it would amuse him as it had before and perhaps help him relax and see that he needn't worry, that all truly was well with me now. And it was. I was so relieved to know that I hadn't done something to cause Thorin's withdrawal that I really was quite fine indeed. Thorin's eyes were now crinkling at the corners, joining his grin, and I knew that he felt relieved, too. It just didn't get better than that. I hugged him again, because he deserved it, and I just had to do it. "It's alright. Let's forget all about it," I murmured in his ear, quickly adding, "You're brave, too."

I felt a faint hesitation from him, a gentle pressure instead of an all-out hug. And suddenly I knew why. When did Thorin Oakenshield allow himself to be comforted? How often did the opportunity arise for someone to comfort him? It seemed unlikely he would ever seek it out. Little wonder it would give him pause. But he faltered only a few seconds before he lifted me up into a true big-armed hug.

"Thank you, little one," he said close to my ear.

I pressed my face to his shoulder, feeling so very privileged. "Not at all."

After a few minutes he drew me back and studied me, his eyes shining with the same fond look he often gave Fili and Kili, and while I basked in that he gently settled me back down in his lap. Ow. This time I didn't hold back my honest reaction. I hissed and arched. Owww!

"Problem?" he asked, still with his lopsided half-grin.

"Well, yes," I replied, feeling a scowl coming on. Problem indeed. As if he had to ask. "My bottom hurts a bit, you know."

"I dare say."

Suddenly I wanted to blurt out, "And it's all your fault you awful, awful dwarf!" But it wasn't all his fault and he wasn't awful. I just wanted to blame him for my sore backside rather than placing the blame with myself, where it belonged. Nevertheless, I mumbled, "It does hurt. Really, reeeally hurts. Maybe you spanked me too much."

He rumbled a deep chuckle. "I wouldn't push your luck. I should spank you every other night for a week."

"What?" I cried. Every other night? For a week? Horrid notion! "You wouldn't!"

"Well, Master Baggins, I'd sooner have you sitting here in my lap, pouting about your sore little bottom rather than sprawled out dead in the meadow, your wee hobbit body shot through with orc arrows. Perhaps a stronger lesson will help you think twice before wandering around unawares."

I shook my head rapidly. "It wouldn't help." He raised a brow and looked to be holding in a laugh, so I winced and rethought my words. "I-I mean, every other night - that wouldn't - it wouldn't work . . . I mean . . . I'll remember. I will. Please, Thorin. No every other night. No,no,no. Tha's too horrible. I'll be good." Oh, lovely. More fauntling speak.

"Mmm. Perhaps not this time," he said, reaching behind me to grab my balled up britches-pillow. "We need to finish our discussion. But first, let's put these back on you."

I'd forgotten that I had nothing on below the waist. My long shirt hung halfway to my knees, covering me in front, and I'd just, well, forgotten about my britches. Thorin shifted them over my feet and up my legs, then he handed them to me and let me do the rest. I huffed and squeaked a bit, but I managed to get dressed with a bit of dignity still intact. My backside stung more with my britches on than off, like last time, but if the rest of our discussion took a turn for the worse I'd just as soon have something between my bare skin and Thorin's huge hand.

"Damp?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

Wriggling to get comfortable, I said, "Yes. Back of my thigh this time."

He grinned, then he quickly grew thoughtful and serious. "Master Baggins, do you understand the difference between taking a risk and doing something truly dangerous?"

Sometimes when Thorin looked grave and called me 'Master Baggins' a shiver crept up my spine. I peered at him. "Well, I . . . yes, I-I think so."

"Fili and Kili took a risk when they disobeyed my orders and scouted around instead of watching the ponies. Approaching the trolls as you did, alone, unarmed and untrained, was truly dangerous."

"Yes," I said with a swift nod. "Yes, I see the difference between taking a risk and doing something truly dangerous."

"Good," he said with grim intensity. "Because while I can tolerate the former to a certain degree, I shall not tolerate the latter. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yessir," I said, knotting my hands together and wishing I still had the hem of my shirt to abuse.

"You have been taking more risks of late, usually while in the company of my nephews. I know Fili and Kili can protect you if need be, so I am willing to put up with it, as I said, to a certain degree. However what you did today was . . . ?" He waited, gazing steadily at me.

"Truly dangerous," I said without hesitation.

He gave a nod. "We both understand that you had your reasons for what you did, but I cannot allow you to take life-threatening chances because you feel in need of some attention." A pause, then a softly-spoken warning: "Stop that."

I spat out my bottom lip. I hadn't realized I'd been biting it but it hurt pretty good right now so I must've bitten down hard. I gave it a quick lick, expecting to taste blood. "Sorry," I muttered, pretending to study my fingers. I know he said there was nothing wrong with wanting his attention, but revisiting the manner in which I sought it today made me feel more naked than when I was sitting around without my britches.

"Look at me, please," he said.

I did, though it wasn't easy. But Thorin now wore his kind-eyed gaze, and he rubbed my back and closed one big palm over my clenched hands, working my fingers loose with his. My hands hurt, too.

"Stop, little one," he said with gentle seriousness. "Stop fussing. I'm as much to blame for what you did today as you are. I drove you to it. What we must do now is to make certain it doesn't happen again. So we are not leaving this shed until we come up with a mutually agreeable plan of action. Are you with me thus far?"

"Of course," I said, brightening inside. "I'm very with you."

He snorted a chuckle, then grew serious again. "Good. Then let's look at the matter. I withdrew from you and you decided to seek my attention in a way that would assure you would receive it. As you can see, I set this in motion, and most unfairly. So, in future I vow that I will, to the best of my ability, never again shove you away or withdraw my attentions in the manner I have been of late." He paused and looked at me, and when I merely gazed back he jogged his knee, giving me a good bounce.

"Ow!"

"I should make myself more clear," he said. "I made a vow to help avoid this unfortunate situation in future, and now I expect you to do the same."

"I was getting to it," I said with complete dishonesty. He gave me a look. "Well, I-I was about to say that I vow to never again do something truly dangerous, but . . . but -" I had to gather my thoughts. Thorin waited patiently. Finally I said, "You see, the thing is, if it was up to me to save someone by doing something dangerous, I'd do it. So I'm just not sure I can make such a vow."

"I know," he said with more calm than I expected. "I'm not asking you to."

I felt my forehead clench. "But-"

"I don't expect you to cease doing what's necessary," he said. "I shall never restrain you when it comes to survival, Master Baggins. Were it not for your courage and your willingness to do what was truly dangerous I would not be here. You have proven your worth many times over, and I'm certain that ere our journey ends we shall need your courage again and you'll be called upon to engage in the truly dangerous."

His deeply rich, mellow tone entered me and lodged itself somewhere in the region of my chest. I was still somewhat baffled, though. "Well then -"

"Remember what I vowed, my burglar," he said. "I vowed that I would, to the best of my ability, never again shove you away or withdraw my attentions in the manner I had been of late. All we can ever do is to try our best. I may, on occasion, need privacy to think things out, but, if at all possible, I'll never turn away from you when I'm needed. Now, I reckon my clever little fauntling can come up with a vow for me in return."

I sniffed and smiled and said, "I vow that, to the best of my ability, I'll avoid doing something truly dangerous just to get your attention. But . . .."

"What is it?"

"How will I . . . I mean, how will you know when I want your atten. . .." My face went hot and I just couldn't think of how to ask . . . and suddenly my lip was between my teeth again.

Thorin reached up and tapped my lip free with one finger. "A certain quiet watchfulness enters your gaze and your eyes follow me when you are seeking some companionship," he said. "I've felt it, and I've seen it, and I've turned away from it. But if you were to continue as you have been, watching me with that steady, wide-eyed look when you need my company, I shan't turn away, and we can either wander from camp a bit and talk alone, or say nothing alone, or we can continue as we have been, sitting together by the fire and sharing a pipe or two when the others are sleeping, you sharing your stories of the Shire with me. You know how I enjoy your tales of the Green Dragon. So, what say you, little one? Does that sound agreeable to you?"

Agreeable? Ohhh . . .! "Yes! Yes," I said bursting out with a small chuckle. "That's most agreeable." And I suddenly remembered what I'd said to him last time. "Fair enough, Thorin Oakenshield."

Now Thorin laughed. "Fair enough, Master Baggins."

XXXXXXXXXX

Kili nudged me in the ribs. I glanced over at him. Eyes forward, he gave a nod straight ahead and I looked further down the hall towards the door. Bilbo and my uncle had returned from their "stroll."

"Thorin and Bilbo went for a stroll around the place," Balin had told us earlier. "He said they might be a while."

"A 'stroll?'" Kili said.

"Aye, lad. A stroll," Balin replied in an 'it's bad form to question your uncle's choices; mind your own affairs, young beardling' tone.

"Wonder what Bilbo did now," my brother said when Balin was gone.

"Could be they just went for a stroll," I said. Kili merely snorted.

Thorin and Bilbo were now making their way through the hall, heading for the table where we sat eating a late breakfast and drinking our mead and pretending we weren't fascinated. That 'stroll' alibi would satisfy the rest of the company, but they didn't have the well-honed 'spanking alert' intuition my brother and I shared. We'd seen Bilbo like this once before, in Rivendell. He couldn't hide that well-disciplined look from two old spanking veterans like Kili and me. We shared a knowing sideways glance.

"So," Kili muttered from the corner of his mouth. "Not just a stroll."

"No, looks like our little brother wasn't just strolling."

After the troll incident Kili and I had become closer to Bilbo, soon dubbing him our little brother. So now Kili had a little brother, and he seemed delighted with that. Bilbo seemed delighted, too. He'd never had a big brother, nor any brothers, or sisters, for that matter, and the loneliness of Bilbo's solitary life had hit Kili hard.

"What must that have been like?" he had asked me when we were alone.

"I'm happy to say that we'll never know, little brother."

Thorin was now drawn aside to talk to Gandalf, so we watched Bilbo climb up the few steps to the dining area alone, his gait slightly stiff. The few other dwarves sitting around the table in small murmuring clusters greeted Bilbo and he nodded and lifted a hand and returned their g'day's whilst heading towards where Kili and I sat by ourselves.

"No teasing," I muttered to Kili.

"Are you joking?" he muttered back. "It'll help him if he can laugh about it."

"Well, maybe a little teasing," I said. "But only a little, Kili. I mean it." I watched Bilbo snag a tankard and begin filling it, Dwalin jumping up to help him hold the huge pitcher. "Looks like he's been through enough."

"Alright, alright," Kili said, sounding disappointed. "Just a little teasing then."

"Think how you would feel."

"I said alright!"

"What's alright?" Bilbo said, joining us.

"Nothing," Kili replied, flashing Bilbo a wicked grin. "Have a seat, little brother."

I could've spanked Kili myself.

"Think I'll stand, thanks," Bilbo said. Then he glanced at the two of us and sighed. "I know you know."

"Know what?" Kili asked.

"You know why I'm choosing to stand," he said, his cheeks flushing.

"Was it bad?" Kili asked with sudden concern.

"Have you ever had one that wasn't?" Bilbo said.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

He looked down and thought. "Yes," he said. "And no." Then he thought longer, looked up at us and winced a little half-grin, adding, "Yes. I'm very alright."

He picked up his tankard with both hands, took a long swig of mead, and when he put it down he began making small movements with his mouth, swirling the mead around, as though trying to wash away a bad taste. He was discreet. I don't suppose anyone but Kili and me would have either noticed what Bilbo was doing or known what it likely meant.

"Oh, no," Kili said, eyes growing wide. "He didn't."

Bilbo shifted from foot to foot and cast us a wary glance. "Didn't what?"

"Bilbo," I said, "did you say something Thorin didn't like? Maybe something vulgar?"

He blushed to an even deeper tone and grimaced. "It slipped out."

Kili groaned. "What did you say?"

It didn't matter what Bilbo had said. Uncle found it foul enough to wash Bilbo's mouth out with soap, so Kili was just prying. But I was curious, too. So I waited with Kili, both of us mercilessly watching Bilbo squirm for a moment. Then he sighed, leaned close to us and muttered what was truly one of the nastiest Khuzdûl words going. It was actually startling to hear it come out of such an innocent-looking halfling.

"Where did you hear that word?" my brother said in a small voice, as it happened to be one of his favorite curses.

"Where do you think?" Bilbo said. Then he noticed Kili's guilty frown and said, "Look, don't blame yourself. I certainly don't. You didn't force that word out of me. I just all of a sudden heard it spilling from my mouth." Kili nodded and made an effort to smile. Bilbo then leaned close again and said, "Besides, take it from me, you're not the only dwarf who says that word."

Kili brightened, and I felt grateful to Bilbo who was preparing to swig down another gulp of mead. I reached out and stopped him.

"That won't help wash away the taste," I said. "Too mild."

"You need something stronger," Kili said.

I thought a minute, then said, "Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Hours ago," Bilbo replied.

I looked at Kili and said, "Wasn't there some mint growing out by the well?"

"Yes!" Kili exclaimed. We slipped from our chairs. "C'mon, little brother!" he cried, grabbing Bilbo by the hand.

Bilbo looked at me. "Nothing conquers the taste of soap like mint," I said, falling in beside him.

"Thank goodness something will," Bilbo muttered.

We hurried through the hall, past Thorin, who gave us an interested glance, and out into the garden where there was, indeed, lots of fresh mint beside the well.

"I'll never say that word again," Bilbo muttered, munching a mouthful of fragrant green. "Never, ever again."

"Never, ever again." Kili grinned at me and raised a brow. "Never, ever again, he says."

And I grinned back, "I heard him."

end