The Tale of the Formerly Respectable Hobbit

Hello to you, reader who has stumbled onto my story! This has probably been done before, but it has literally been turning around inside my head non-stop since seeing "The Battle of the Five Armies" four times over the Christmas break...yes, I know, that was some time ago! Still turning! :)

AU in the sense that "everyone lives", incorporating some events from both the book, and the movies - and whatever my mind filled up to make it work (hopefully) nicely. Eventually slash between Thorin and Bilbo (because the actors sold it to me along the movies), don't like, don't read, you were warned!

Disclaimer: "The Hobbit" is not mine, nor am I making any profit out of this fanfiction, beyond my simple amusement - and hopefully, yours!

Bilbo was not a naïve hobbitling.

Or at the very least, he liked to think that he wasn't.

He'd always known that there really was nothing glorious about battles or war – although many would argue that Hobbits don't actually know anything about battles or war. He'd read and heard many a song and tale but he very well realized that pain and blood and death were anything but glorious.

During battle the sound of clashing weapons coming down on shield, armor, flesh and bone assaulted your ears from all sides, never letting up, leaving your head ringing so loudly you ended up forgetting what silence was actually like. While in battle death was everywhere, and its stench never let you forget it. You could die at any time and no one would know – your comrades could die at any time, maybe right under your eyes, or so faraway you might not find out until much later, or maybe you'd even die before finding out – and that would be a small mercy, he figured. While in battle terror was omnipresent, a dread so fierce it made you want to both cower in fear and charge forward without any thoughts for your safety – and war…well war essentially managed to make you believe that your safety was forfeit right from the start. Maybe he hadn't actually known all of this in so much detail before (and now he really wished he'd never learnt), but he'd certainly never believed it wasn't a fully horrid experience on every level.

Around him Men and Elves and Dwarves had fought and fallen while Orc and Troll and Goblin corpses littered the ground and he'd known for certain: there was nothing glorious about that. Those bards and storytellers who claimed otherwise were nothing but liars who spun their pretty tales so the young and foolish would not automatically desert their masters when there was a call for arms.

Bilbo had seen enough to last him a lifetime and more by the time he'd been knocked unconscious. As his eyes fluttered open much later, for a brief blissful second he failed to recall what had happened, but that was over all too soon, and he remembered. Even as he was informed of their victory there was a foul taste in his mouth and the pungent smell in their air was enough to make him retch because no song or tale had ever mentioned what happened after the fighting was over when corpses covered the battlefield and had to be removed. Some were so badly mangled or simply covered in so much grime and blood that it was not immediately possible to tell those who were still among the living from those who had crossed to the halls of their forefathers – or would shortly do so. He himself wasn't exactly clean either, although he would take goblin blood over troll snot any day – he'd tried to make himself forget about that unfortunate incident, but alas, so far, no such luck! (It probably did not help that Fíli and Kíli had kept reminding him of it every chance they had, lovely lads that they were.)

Bilbo looked around himself as he followed a soldier of Lake-town down to the camp in the valley, and he was not ashamed at the thought that he was glad he had not had to witness any more of war's horrors – and was that a pile of intestines? Wriggling his nose in disgust and holding his breath, he resolved himself to do his very best not to let hope gain complete hold of him just because so far he had not recognized any of the bodies he'd walked by. He would only allow himself to let out a breath in relief after having seen his friends with his own eyes and made sure they were alright.

He could only hope that Fíli and Kíli had not let their recklessness and eagerness and youth get the better of them, because Erebor would need cheer. That Ori was safe and that Dori and Nori had not taken unnecessary risks to keep their younger brother alive. That Bombur was thinking of preparing their next meal and not in mourning, and Bifur hadn't received another life-changing wound, and Bofur still had the strength to smile, because they'd need that – he'd need that. That Óin was healthy enough to heal others, and Glóin still raring, because he had a family to go back to and he had to go back to them, they'd won, so he had to. That Balin had not lived through so many battles and hardships and losses only to pass when they'd done it, when they'd reclaimed their home, even if he trusted that Dwalin might have kept him safe, because if anyone could keep their brother and themselves safe on the battlefield, then it would be Dwalin – Bilbo had half a mind to believe that the warrior could actually scare death away. And that Thorin…that Thorin…that he…Bilbo shook his head at that, refusing to allow even a sliver of a doubt to settle. Thorin had to live, because he was Thorin and Bilbo thought he was entitled to hit him for his behavior (although he was very much aware he most likely didn't have the physical strength to make the dwarf even flinch) and Erebor needed him and his people needed him and the Company needed him and he—

Bilbo snapped out of his thoughts as the man he was following came to an abrupt stop and he walked straight into his legs – and really, who even needed legs that long? The soldier wordlessly reached out to steady him and then pointed towards the tent in front of them. Bilbo's eyes widened as he saw Gandalf sitting by a barrel outside of it, his arm in a sling – and this did inspire fear in the hobbit, because if even the great wizard was wounded, what were the odds that his dwarvish friends had come out of this madness unscathed? Even through his haze, he opened his mouth to ask precisely this question but the old man interrupted him.

"There will be time to answer all your questions, my friend, but for now let us make haste – you are called for," Gandalf said enigmatically as he gestured towards the tent behind them and pulled at the flaps with his good arm.

Bilbo followed him with a frown and let out the day's first sigh of relief as he spotted Dwalin stoutly standing to the side of the entrance, and Óin further in. He opened his mouth to communicate his happiness at seeing them well – he could spot a few bandages here and there, but the warrior looked as he always did and the healer was moving around freely with the same practiced purpose he always exhibited – but all words died in his throat as he saw who said healer was tending to. "Thorin…" he whispered.

He hadn't spoken loudly, but the tent's occupants noticed him and turned to him with a coordination that would have been comical under less dire circumstances, but not now – not when—"Are you alright? Is he alright?" he asked, first talking to Thorin then Óin, figuring the King – because he was the King now, right? – would insist he was alright even on his deathbed. Bilbo tensed at that thought and the words were out of his mouth before he could place a filter on them. "You're not on your deathbed are you? He's not, is he? Right?" he once more asked one and then the other.

Gandalf made a sound that was much like a chuckle that turned into a snort but remained otherwise silent. Dwalin on the other hand openly snorted. Óin visibly hadn't heard him well enough – it would have been quite surprising indeed for his trumpet to survive the battle after all – and gestured for him to come closer before returning to grinding a thick paste together in one of his bowls.

"Sorry to disappoint," Thorin rasped with a tired smile pulling at his lips as he looked up at the hobbit.

Bilbo frowned and made a little shocked noise of indignation at the suggestion that he'd welcome his death. "Thorin, I would never—"

"Peace, Master Baggins, I said this in good humor, although I would deserve any ill will you would bear me," the dwarf interrupted him, voice full of authority despite its weakness – and the tiniest measure of amusement, surprisingly.

Bilbo just swallowed back his protest, his eyes taking in the dwarf's appearance. Blood and dirt covered his hair and much of his skin, but while there were bandages around his chest and down his arms, for the time being they looked clean, and not bloody, so that had to be a good sign – right?

"Master Óin believes I am no longer on death's doorsteps, but should fate decide otherwise I would make peace with you so that we might part in friendship, and take back my words and deeds at the gate," the King under the Mountain said in earnest as he looked into his eyes.

Bilbo didn't look away as he held his gaze, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that Thorin's eyes were no longer clouded by that nasty magic that had caused him to go mad. "Are you…really going to make it?" he found himself asking quietly, never minding that he realized this was a terribly insensitive question to ask someone when they laid in a healer's tent. "You'll live?"

"With the city reclaimed and the battle won? Now would be a poor time to die indeed," was the amused reply he received.

Bilbo let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and in concert with that, his heart resumed its normal rhythm – and he didn't remember it quickening before either. Thorin would live. Thorin would live. The relief mixed with his resentment and washed through him, so powerful that it threatened to sap all strength from his legs and for a second he did think they were going to give out on him.

Óin chose that moment to apply his latest concoction on the hobbit's forehead, right where he'd been struck and he loudly communicated the pain he felt at the sudden rough fondling of his open wound. "A little warning next time?" he asked irritably although he didn't step away. That thing hurt even worse than it smelled and absently he wondered if he'd ever be able to get it out of his hair, but by then he knew to trust Óin's skills. The healer ignored him in favor of quickly and efficiently wrapping a strip of cloth around his head, with a seeming fervor to ensure the paste would have no way to go but deeper into his body – his wounded body. "Alright, thank you Óin, I'm good," Bilbo insisted as he winced one last time before looking back into Thorin's eyes – and feeling slightly peeved as he saw some barely concealed laughter there. "Well if you're really on the road to recovery, then apology accepted – but that doesn't mean I forgive you yet," he quickly warned him frankly as he pointed a finger at him – internally, he lamented that the bandage wrapped around his head probably made him even less intimidating, but he held onto his pride nonetheless and stood straight to be as tall as he could. Four pairs of eyes widened and locked on him at this (he could feel Dwalin and Gandalf's gazes on his back) but he refused to be deterred. "But that is a discussion for another day. You should rest now," he said instead. His conscience wouldn't let him fight with a wounded man.

Thorin's eyes narrowed pensively and he looked deep in thoughts for a moment, obviously trying to understand him – and failing, so far. "Then let us continue this conversation later," he finally agreed, sounding tired and defeated.

Bilbo nodded at him and fidgeted on his feet for a moment before snapping out of it. "Right. Stay well," he said for lack of anything better to say as he turned to leave, noting Dwalin's barely-there smirk (the warrior didn't like people to know when he thought they were funny, like it would make him less intimidating – as if!). He then also very determinedly tried to ignore Gandalf's amused expression, but the wizard made it impossible to do when he followed him outside. He was about to snap an annoyed retort when something else occurred to him. "The others? How are they?" he asked him anxiously.

"Alive, my dear Bilbo, alive," Gandalf reassured him instantly. "With injuries ranking from broken fingers to bruised ribs with a broken jaw to account for, not to forget cuts and bruises, and a great chance of alcoholic overindulgence tonight, but alive," he recounted.

"Broken jaw? That sounds rather painful – I dare say more so than broken fingers…who is the unfortunate victim?" Bilbo asked more to keep himself awake than anything – while he had in effect been unconscious for a long time, he felt dizzy and ready to sleep the next week away; he suspected Óin's ointment was not unrelated to this and stifled a wide yawn.

"Young Kíli, I believe," the wizard replied after a moment's reflection. He then stopped and pointed his staff towards a tent. "But you need to rest, my friend. More talks and explorations can wait for a new day," he said warmly before taking his leave.

"Poor Kíli, he has such a hard time staying quiet…" Bilbo thought out loud as he watched him go and yawned once more before turning to push aside the tent's flaps. No sooner had he stepped inside that he was attacked – yes, attacked, as there was no other way to describe the tackle that brought him to the floor, effectively kicking out all air from his lungs. So much for surviving the battle! Opening his eyes with much effort, he breathed out in relief as Bofur wiggled his eyebrows down at him. "Heavy…" he mumbled sleepily.

Bofur laughed loudly at this before helping him up and steering him towards an empty cot. "We were worried sick about you, Bilbo!" he said easily with a wide grin as he walked back to plop down onto his own cot.

The hobbit smiled back automatically, blinking his eyes a few times and shaking his head to dissipate the torpor as he gazed from Bofur to Bifur and Bombur – the latter being fast asleep and snoring loudly as he was so prone to. "So was I about the lot of you – I'm relieved to see you're alright, truly," he assured them earnestly.

Bofur's expression softened as he too glanced at his brother and cousin. "Aye, we're alright…" he repeated, as though he were reassuring himself.

Bifur said something in Khuzdûl and pointed at Bilbo emphatically.

"Am I hurt?" Bilbo tried to interpret, giving a quick tired smile as the other dwarf nodded heartily. "Just a nasty bump – Óin already rubbed an equally nasty and smelly something on it," he assured them with a grimace as his hand automatically went to touch the bandage, fingers idly toying with a loose thread on the fabric. "How about you?" he then asked sleepily, genuinely interested in their well-being but finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes opened.

"Cuts and bruises, mostly," Bofur reassured him for the three of them. "Luckily for us, this whole case turned out to be more scary than painful in the end! Although I did see this poor Man from Lake-town with an arrow sticking out of his foot – that has to hurt!" He thought to continue entertaining his friend with tales of horrible battle scars, but the burglar was fast asleep. "Well he's got the right idea, I reckon…" he muttered to himself as he leaned back down as well. "What a day…"

And to think that they were only getting started…

0o0o0

Bilbo woke up the next morning to two very excited faces looming above his. Unflinching, he simply blinked the sleep out of his eyes a few times. "Fíli. Kíli," he greeted around a yawn – and honestly, how sad was it that they'd gotten him used to waking up to their hovering to the point that he wasn't even momentarily shocked anymore? The brothers visibly shared the same trail of thoughts as they looked at each other quickly in disappointment – no doubt they missed the good old days when waking their burglar up like this had had him jumping up while making the most amusing frightened yelp. Goblin mongrels.

"Is it true?" Fíli then asked with a raised eyebrow, while Kíli tried to pull off a grin that didn't hurt his face too much – and it was the single most pathetic thing Bilbo had ever seen: Kíli of all people was meant to smile, not have this sick purple color all around his jaw! Without thinking, Bilbo reached out a hand to pat the younger prince's head comfortingly, smiling absently at his grateful expression.

Fíli's words then computed. "Is what true, Fíli?" he asked the older prince with a frown.

"That you chewed out Uncle!" was the excited reply, his brother nodding enthusiastically next to him.

"Beg your pardon – I did what?" the hobbit asked indignantly as he sat up, looking around for the first time. The light was clear, and he felt rested enough that he was sure he'd slept the day away. Absently, his stomach rumbled so he knew he'd missed a few meals – again. Bofur and Bifur were away, but Bombur was looking at them as though they were his snack-time entertainment – or luncheon maybe? – as he cleared a plate of rabbit stew – and Bilbo idly wondered if there was any left. "What did you hear?" he reluctantly asked the princes in the best authoritative tone he could muster, because he did not need rumors to spin out of control – his head already hurt enough as it was, thank you very much.

"Well Óin told Glóin who told Nori who told Dori and Ori who told Bifur who told Bombur who told Bofur who told Kíli and I that Uncle apologized to you and you refused him," Fíli diligently replied before frowning as his brother shook his head. "What is it?" Kíli made a few gestures, and the blond dwarf tapped his hand to his forehead. "You're right Kíli, of course – I got this all wrong!" he mused as he turned back to Bilbo.

"Yes, indeed, I think so," the Burglar-Hobbit readily agreed, purposefully not mentioning how ridiculous it was that they were listening to gossip gleaned by the hard-of-hearing member of their group in the first place.

"Bofur was also there when Nori told Dori and Ori and he subsequently told us," Fíli clarified. "I knew that didn't sound right."

Bilbo just stared at the princes – the smug-looking princes – not for the first time at a complete loss as to what to say. Because indeed 'who told who' was obviously the important bit here, not the simple truth that the rumor was completely wrong in the first place. Right! They were older than him for mercy's sake! Never mind that Dwarves lived longer and were therefore considered adults later, how had Fíli and Kíli survived for so long when they obviously didn't have a lick of sense in their heads, the lovable goofs?

"Actually," Bombur interjected as he looked at his rabbit meat pensively, "I think it was Dori who told Nori, not the other way around."

"Was it now?" Fíli wondered with a frown.

Kíli shrugged and pointed to Bombur questioningly.

"Bifur told me though, you got that part right," the rotund dwarf offered kindly. "I did tell Bofur, but by then he'd already heard about it!"

"I think I really hit my head too hard…" Bilbo muttered as he moved a hand to tentatively rub at his aching forehead, eyes widening as he noted the fabric was different.

Kíli noticed his look and tapped his own chest proudly.

"Kíli and I changed your bandage while you were sleeping," Fíli rendered with a warm smile. "And we were worried you'd never wake up, what with sleeping through that!"

"Thank you…" Bilbo replied, strangely touched and suddenly overcome with a rush of affection for their resident troublemakers.

Of course Fíli had to ruin the moment by opening his big mouth. "So is it true?" he asked once more, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Bilbo did not give them the satisfaction of groaning nor sighing nor sputtering. "In a sense – although I get the distinct impression that the story got warped through word of mouth. Thorin did apologize and I accepted his apology," he clarified. "However, I have not yet forgiven him, and have advised him we would not speak of this until he was well again."

All three dwarves looked at him with the utmost seriousness. "So…you've accepted his apology," Fíli began slowly.

"But you haven't forgiven him?" Bombur finished, and he'd even paused in his eating, confused as he was.

Kíli raised his hands in a helpless shrug as he shook his head in disbelief, nudging his brother with his elbow.

"It doesn't make any sense," Fíli dutifully relayed.

"Of course it makes sense," the hobbit replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It makes perfect sense!"

"Mmh-mmh," Kíli insisted as he shook his head.

"Yes it—oh forget it, I am not letting myself get drawn into a pointless childish game of yes-no with you two," Bilbo declared as he raised an eyebrow. "And I do believe that is none of your business – this is between your Uncle and me," he reminded them coolly.

Kíli snorted at that and Bilbo realized he didn't need to be able to speak to be an insufferable brat.

"But you will sort it, right?" Fíli asked him with a worried look – and for some reason he suddenly looked much older.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving with things unresolved, Fíli," the hobbit assured him earnestly as he placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to calm him.

It would figure that it had the opposite effect on both young dwarves.

"Eavin'?!" Kíli gasped in outrage before letting out a groan as he cradled his jaw in pain. His brother and the burglar immediately checked for themselves that he hadn't re-dislocated his jaw but as Bilbo pulled back he grabbed his wrist and gave him the most accusing wide-eyed look he could muster – and he was good, he knew it. He sent Fíli a meaningful glance and shrug of the head before turning back to his shamelessly manipulative scheme.

"Why are you talking about leaving, Bilbo?" Fíli asked with a genuinely sad expression before going in for the kill. "Do you want to leave us?"

Bilbo was smart enough to realize that he was being played, but he'd long ago accepted that he was not strong enough to be impervious to it. The sons of the line of Durin obviously held a strange sway over him. "No, of course not, I don't want to leave you – any of you – but the quest is fulfilled now, and one day I must go back to the Shire," he said reasonably, resisting the urge to pat both their heads reassuringly because he would not give them the satisfaction of knowing they were that good and they were both older than him!

"Why?" Kíli asked with fiery determination in his eyes.

"Wh—because it's home. And you shouldn't talk, Kíli," Bilbo quickly added as he frowned worriedly. The rigid set of the dwarf's shoulders told him he wasn't happy with his trying to change the subject – which he wasn't, truly, he was genuinely worried!

"We could make Erebor your home," Fíli offered softly, quickly raising a hand to cut off anything he might have said in protest. "Please think about it. We fully realize it's a selfish wish, and a hypocritical one at that when you've just helped us regain our own home, so we should well understand your position. But please promise us you'll at least think about it?" he asked him in a levelled voice, his clear blue eyes holding him in place.

Bilbo thought to himself that he would be a grand king one day. "Fíli—"

"Promise us," the prince repeated.

"I promise," Bilbo finally replied with a slow nod, unused to sharing such a serious moment with the two brothers. He didn't get to say more as a plate of food was handed to him, and he looked up at a smiling Bombur. "Thank you," he replied with a smile, surprised but touched.

"People shouldn't have such serious discussions on an empty stomach," Bombur replied simply as he eyed the two princes in amusement – and slight reproach.

They at least had the decency to look down sheepishly – for all of a minute.

But Bilbo wouldn't have them any other way. Inwardly, he wasn't certain why they were so upset over this, as though it was entirely unexpected – he hadn't said that he'd be leaving in the coming days after all, just in the near future – eventually. 'Home' had always been the promise and goal of this quest, for each and every one of them, even if their situations were not the same. He wondered, when had Fíli and Kíli started to include him in their vision of it? And why did it please him so ridiculously much? Especially when he wasn't even sure if it would be possible: he was a Hobbit, what place could there be for him Under the Mountain with Dwarves?

Not that he was lonely in the Shire; he had relatives, and acquaintances…just not…friends he had really connected with as he had with the Dwarves of Erebor. Would it break his heart to leave the Company behind and return to his quiet solitary days in Bag End? Yes, of course. Was that enough of a reason to consider staying? To consider leaving the Shire behind for good, uprooting his life and leaving behind everything he'd ever known for a never-ending adventure?

Bofur and Bifur returned to the tent with their own food at this moment, loudly greeting them all and equally as loudly teasing Kíli for not being able to talk back. Bilbo chuckled fondly as the dark-haired prince just stole the toymaker's food in response, laughter becoming even louder at the wild chase that ensued. He didn't have to think at all about whether it would be worth it.

Yes, of course it would.

Maybe. Possibly. He'd need to really think about – he'd promised Fíli he would, and he intended to keep his word. Besides, he'd best not get ahead of himself – to be welcomed to stay in the kingdom of Erebor, he'd need the King's approval, after all. And he wasn't yet certain what his standing would be in that regard once all would be said and done with Thorin.

Because despite his enormous well of affection for Fíli and Kíli, his strong friendship with Bofur and Balin, his mutual avoidance deal with Dwalin that belied a grudging mutual respect, his amusement at Bifur and Nori's antics, his shared love of food with Bombur, his shared love of books with Ori and his excellent rapport with Glóin, Óin and Dori, if Thorin didn't want him there then he wouldn't stay – and he didn't mean that with any melodramatic flair. This was Thorin's home, and even if his nephews could probably get on his nerves enough that he'd permit Bilbo to stay (if only to have peace), Bilbo wouldn't want to if that was the only reason. Not that he was expecting a formal invitation or open arms (not that he'd be complaining about either one of those, in all honesty), but he would not settle for a grunt of approbation given in passing.

0o0o0

The next day, Bilbo woke up in a daze and saw the world through a veil of pain as his head throbbed like it never had before, even when he'd received the blow. He drifted in and out of consciousness for the better part of the day and the night, sometimes dimly aware of smelling foul medication, hearing far-off voices, or feeling cool damp cloths pressed to his face. When his fever had finally come down yet another day later, every muscle in his body ached and his mouth tasted like cotton but he wanted nothing more than to escape his cot and breathe fresh air, no matter how cold it was outside. Kíli barely ever left his side, as he and Fíli felt guilty, having somehow figured that his worsening condition had been caused by their pestering. Bilbo had refrained from saying out loud that it was both the silliest and most heartwarming thing he'd ever heard and had just assured them that he was alright, but the archer would have none of it. Fíli was helping Thorin, Balin and Dáin in settling official disputes and organizing Erebor's reconstruction, and in light of his injuries Kíli was encouraged to rest some more, so he in turn decided to spend that time keeping himself busy by making sure their Hobbit would be alright. Bilbo didn't really mind, besides they communicated surprisingly well with gestures, even without Fíli there to play interpreter.

"How have the people of Lake-town been holding up?" Bilbo asked curiously as he looked at the people milling about Dale's vestiges' ramparts.

Kíli held a hand palm down and turned it up and down in the universal 'so-so' gesture before raising his hands to rub his arms and faking a chill.

"Yes, winter is upon us," the hobbit mused as he looked at them with a frown, still feeling guilty they'd – he'd – caused their suffering in the first place. "Is Bard still in charge?"

Kíli made a huffing sound that was clearly meant to say: who else?

"And the Elves?"

This time the prince sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, his way of saying he wouldn't talk about that – not while he couldn't talk, at any rate.

"Fine, be that way," Bilbo humored him before looking down at the camp as they'd reached the top of Ravenhill. "How long do you think it will be before we can move out of the encampment and completely into Erebor itself?" he wondered out loud.

Kíli pursed his lips as he thought about it. He finally held up four fingers.

"Four weeks?"

A nod. He then pointed towards the entrance and used his fingers to trace the general shape of a door before holding up one finger, turning to him to convey something with his eyes.

"One week for the door?" Bilbo tried.

"No," Kíli huffed, sighing in frustration. He pointed to the door again, and held up one finger, then pointed to the camp, and held two fingers.

"I get it! The priority is fixing the gate!" Bilbo replied excitedly. The smile he received in response was as good a reward as any. Looking back down at the valley, his eyes were drawn to Thorin's tent and he sighed. "How is Thorin?" he found himself asking before he could think about it.

Kíli followed his gaze, as if the dwarf in question would just walk out in plain sight as though summoned, and gently tapped his hand to his heart in a gesture that could mean so many things, but that Bilbo interpreted to mean 'he'll be alright because we're Durin's folk and he's Thorin'. He then nudged his companion and mimicked a discussion with his hands, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

"I'm not running away from talking to him, Kíli," the hobbit assured him, correctly understanding him – somehow. "I didn't exactly stay in bed those past days by choice. Besides, we really should clear the air before moving the camp to the mountain," he added absently. The look of pure panic the dark-haired dwarf sent him at this made him chuckle and shake his head fondly. "I'm not saying this because I'm counting the minutes until I'm away from here, relax! I gave you and Fíli my word I'll seriously think about it and I will," he assured him. "As things stand right now, I'd be hard pressed to make it back to the Shire without getting caught in a snowstorm at any rate, and I really don't fancy that," he added more quietly. "One crazy journey was enough for me."

Kíli surveyed him critically, gradually relaxing his posture and nodding though still not entirely convinced.

"Come on, let's go see if we can grab some soup – it's getting colder and I've missed enough meals as it is!" Bilbo attempted to bribe him shamelessly to draw a smile – and smiled widely himself when it worked. Kíli wasn't supposed to eat foods that took much chewing, so soups and mashed meals were his lot, but apparently only Fíli and Bilbo were nice enough not to indulge in hearty meaty meals in front of him. He'd never minded soup anyway, so skipping on roast was a small price to pay to lift his friend's spirits.

Nori and Glóin shortly joined them, the latter in a particularly good mood as he'd apparently received a raven from the Blue Mountains with the news that his wife and son were among those who'd volunteered to join the first of many caravans to Erebor, and would be arriving with spring if there were no unforeseen delays. Kíli excused himself at this, miming work to be done and gently patting Bilbo's shoulder before retreating – though he suspected it was only to avoid Glóin's thousandth retelling of his wife's beauty and his son's bright future as he was so prone to.

Ori wandered by some time later, as though drawn by the food, and he looked a mix between excited and exhausted, devouring his plate faster than was usual. A casual inquiry on his day so far was enough to open the dam on his grievances though. Apparently while many were perfectly willing and even eager to assist in counting and cataloging the treasure hoard, no one was lining up to help him draw an internal map of the city. "I asked Nori to help me go from room to room, but he gets distracted as soon as he sees something that might be useful in bartering – even though I keep telling him he doesn't need to worry about things like that anymore!" the young dwarf exclaimed in exasperation at his brother's antics.

"You never know what's gonna happen! Best be prepared!" Nori defended himself with a huff.

"What about Dori?" Bilbo asked conversationally as he munched on a bit of bread – and put his teeth to good use too, he should have let it mellow in the soup as Kíli had.

"He's busy with other things in camp. I keep telling everyone we need to know what we're working with, but…well…map-making isn't Dwarves' strongest point…" he mused with a defeated sigh, looking down at his bowl as though it held all the answers or a miraculous solution.

"What kind of help do you need, exactly?" Bilbo asked him with a frown.

"We need to know which living quarters can still be lived in, and we also have to make sure that if their…previous owners have living relatives in the Blue Mountains or Iron Hills, then we don't assign them to anyone else…blood feuds have been known to be declared over less than that! Also if anything such as beddings, covers, candles or the like can be salvaged, that's always good to know. Everyone agrees that it's important, but still, no one's volunteering!" Ori explained with a frown before looking up at him with barely contained hope. "Would you…be willing to help?"

"I don't see why not – it sounds like something I can definitely help with, as opposed to lifting boulders and rebuilding doors and corridors," the hobbit replied easily. "Besides, it'll keep me busy."

"Oh thank you, Bilbo, thank you so much!" the other dwarf exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than the situation warranted as he grabbed his hand in both of his and shook it vigorously.

"Don't mention it, it's my pleasure," Bilbo assured him as he pulled his hand back before his arm could fall off.

"May I ask you something else?" Ori asked tentatively as he sat back down, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his scarf.

"Go ahead," Bilbo replied with a curious cock of his head.

Ori looked left and right to make sure nobody else was listening in and leaned closer to ask his question. "Is it true that you refused Thorin's apology?" he asked in awe. Nori actually looked up from where he sat on the other side of the fire and leaned closer in interest. Even Glóin angled himself towards them as he pretended to be greatly focused on cleaning his pipe.

Bilbo groaned and looked up to the sky wondering what he'd done to deserve this. "No, I just said that I haven't forgiven him yet – and before you argue, no, it's not the same. And stop believing everything your brother says – both of them, actually," he replied tiredly, pointedly ignoring Nori's indignant protest. As he rubbed his face with his hands he noted that his friends looked disappointed of all things. Letting out a deep sigh, he stood and excused himself to go get some rest, even if by this point he had an inkling his head would never stop hurting as long as he remained around Dwarves. But fate conspired against him, because he walked into Bard before he was even halfway to his tent. "Hello Bard, it's good to see you still in one piece," he greeted politely anyway – not that he wasn't genuinely happy to see the man was alright, naturally.

Bard chuckled ruefully and surveyed him critically. "The relief is mine, I assure you. I'd heard you had survived the battle, but still, the last time I'd seen you before that was not in the most reassuring of settings," he replied evenly as he raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo winced at that, his lips drawn in a thin line. "Yes. Well—not the highlight of my week, as you can imagine," he replied quietly.

"I was reassured to hear the King offered you an apology, although I believe you were well within your rights to refuse him," Bard continued with blunt honesty as he looked even more grim than usual. "Some actions cannot be forgiven in exchange of mere words."

Bilbo didn't even have the energy to open his eyes wide and could do little more than pinch the bridge of his nose tiredly. "For the love of—when I get my hands on Óin or whoever spread this rumor, I will hurt them," he muttered, gentle nature long out the window.

The Dragon Slayer merely raised an eyebrow in amusement at this. "I take it the real event was somewhat warped?"

"Somewhat," the hobbit confirmed. "You could say that. I don't suppose there's a chance I could look for sanctuary in Dale, should I lose my temper and maim a Dwarf or two – or thirteen?" he asked the bowman half-seriously.

Bard chuckled at this, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he pretended to ponder it. "Are you including the King in this imaginary tally?" he wondered as he fingered his bowstring absently.

"Hmm. Good question," Bilbo conceded as he made a show of stroking his chin as though seriously considering it. "That remains to be seen, in all honesty. So what say you?"

"I smuggled you in once, I could most certainly smuggle you out if needed," Bard mused as he looked up from his bow, being done with his imaginary inspection of it. "Your current hardships stemmed from your desire to ensure peace for everyone, after all – I can't in good conscience turn my back on you now," he replied with a mock-bow. A glint in his eyes made it clear though that he meant these words, even if he'd said them teasingly.

"I'm just the right height to kick your shins and have it hurt really badly, you know," the hobbit reminded the man darkly as he walked around him, ignoring his clear chuckle at his threats. He had to speak to Thorin before he became universally known throughout the valley as The Burglar-Hobbit Who Refused The King's Apology. As catchy as that title sounded, he'd never wanted fame, and certainly not for something as unbecoming and untrue as that!

Tomorrow. Today his head hurt too much and he just might end up actually maiming those Dwarves. Possibly even all thirteen of them.

When had his life become so complicated?

Oh. Right…when he'd decided to go on an adventure.

(…Best decision he'd ever made, but he'd wear shoes before ever admitting to it out loud.)

Well, that was it for the first part. Please don't hesitate to let me know your impressions, or if you noticed grammar/spelling mistakes.

This story is finished - not "almost" finished, "finished" finished, so I won't be dropping it in the middle, promise! There will be a total of 5 chapters.