This is a prequel to "In the End", which you don't need to have read to understand this story.

Chapter 1

He didn't remember the ale being this bitter. Dwarves, of course, didn't mind a bitter taste, but perhaps his more recent lifestyle had made him soft.

The innkeeper's eyes had been on his jewels longer than his grim face and torn ear, no sign of recognition in his gaze while Dwalin remembered him very well.

But he supposed he hadn't been very interesting years ago for a man who was used to looking first at how much money a man was likely to spend in his business.

The inn had not changed much. The same crowd of Bree inhabitants, traders and travelers occupied it, the same smell of thick broth, grilled meat, ale, wine, and bodies, some more, some less washed, lay in the air.

Grarduid dropped onto the bench across from him.

"The others are finished with their business. We have ten more homecomers."

"Good," Dwalin only said and lifted his ale to his lips again. He sure preferred what was served in Erebor or even Dale.

The King, Dain Ironfoot, had had the word spread that Erebor welcomed any dwarf; no few former citizens of Erebor had followed the call, but also many other dwarrow from various places in Middle-earth. The Blue Mountains, crowded for centuries after Smaug's attack, appeared now almost empty; at least to those who had not known the dwarven dwelling before those days.

A group of young men, locals, a bit tipsy, rose from their table near a corner and made their way out, calling their 'good night' to the bar keeper and one of the serving lasses. And there, previously hidden by their bulk, sat a very familiar figure.

"You stay," Dwalin grunted and rose, taking his stein with him. When he set it down on the other table, its occupant–who had been studying the table–flinched and turned wide, doe-brown eyes onto his disturber. Dwalin was pleased to see that his hand had also gone to his belt; perhaps their burglar had learnt something after all.

"Master Baggins!"

The hobbit's face lit up and he seemed curiously relieved to see Dwalin.

"Master Dwalin! What brings you so far West?"

The little fellow could sure shake a hand and gave Dwalin's hand a vigorous treatment. The dwarf clasped him on one shoulder, nearly sending the little fellow back down onto his bench.

"I had business in the Blue Mountains. On my way back to Erebor now."

"Oh? Well, that's good; wouldn't want to hear that you have been exiled again. Are there, by chance, any other known faces in your company?"

The hobbit tried to peer around Dwalin's back.

"None, but the other dwarrow would sure be interested in meeting our famous burglar, too."

Bilbo laughed a bit. "I wouldn't call myself much to look at."

"And what are you doing in Bree, Master Baggins?"

"Ah," he drawled, smiling a bit nervously and only meeting Dwalin's gaze after a while. "Your company has ruined me. I'm no longer a hobbit content to sit in his armchair all day and tend to my lands like a proper hobbit. Instead, I've taken to going on walking holidays every so often." He smiled impishly. "Last spring I even went as far as the Havens and visited the elves."

"Humph! Should have paid the Blue Mountains a visit! They would have given you a proper welcome!"

"I meant to," Bilbo's joy dimmed a bit. "I asked whether Lady Dís was in, but she had already left."

"I thought Balin sends you letters? Didn't he tell you about her arrival in Erebor?"

Bilbo shrugged. "I get messages from him occasionally, but nothing lately mentioning Dís. I must not have received it, if he wrote. The way is long, after all."

Dwalin agreed. "I told him to use the ravens. They're much more reliable."

"I'm sure they have more important things to do. How is everyone?"

They chatted for a bit, and Dwalin was reminded about how simple-minded he had thought the hobbit to be when he had spoken of such idle things during their journey to Erebor. But something was different today. The hobbit was too tense, for one. He was gripping his stein tightly, which appeared so much larger in his hands than in Dwalin's, but he hardly drank from it. He was also casting weary glances around the room every so often, and it occurred to Dwalin that the hobbit had not chosen to sit here by chance, with his back to the wall and good lines of sight into most corners of the room. Not that it helped him if he insisted on studying the wood grain of the table.

But Dwalin was not clever with conversation. He tried, taking a page from his brother's book and asking: "How is Hobbiton and your house?" And keeping an ear out for anything that might stand out. But nothing did. It was only the same inane chatter Dwalin was mostly used to hearing from Bilbo.

Finally he was sick of it and he stared Bilbo down over his thick brows and watched Bilbo trail off and shift in his seat.

"What are you staring at me for?" The little hobbit finally demanded.

"You're hiding something. You're being shifty."

He spluttered. "Me! Shifty! Who do you think I am– I'm a respectable-"

"Baggins from Bag End, yes, I know. Now tell me something I don't know."

Bilbo looked down at the table, and his hands around the stein tightened even more. Perhaps just becoming aware of his drink, he lifted it to his lips and drank. And drank. And drank some more until the stein was apparently empty and he set it back on the table.

"Well, you know how my neighbors are. And my relatives." He shook his head with a sigh. "I just don't like it when they put their noses into my business. And my walking holidays, well, they think it's their business. It's very unhobbitish, they say. So I'd rather not be recognized and have everything get back to them."

It sounded so utterly implausible to Dwalin! Hiding, from his neighbors and relatives? Admittedly, during their journey Bilbo had found many occasions to complain of some hobbit or another, one woman in particular if he remembered correctly, a distant relative. And now Bilbo went on to recount his return home from Erebor and how he had found his belongings being auctioned off– well, Dwalin had never heard of any such thing happening to a dwarf, and he couldn't blame the little fellow for being clever and a bit more suspicious.

At the end of his tale, Bilbo gave a large yawn, followed by a hiccup, and said:

"I think I'm going to head off to bed. Perhaps we'll see each other again tomorrow morning?"

"Aye, I think we can do that, burglar. Breakfast together? Bright and early?"

Bilbo made a face. "That is something I definitely do not miss! Thorin waking everyone up just as dawn crept up the horizon! Together with all the times we nearly died, of course-," he broke off, his expression turning sad again. Of course some of them had died, there at the very end.

"Good night, Master Burglar," Dwalin said.

The hobbit nodded. "Good night, Master Dwalin." His hand lingered on Dwalin's shoulder when he made his way past, then he disappeared up the stairs.

There will be about one or two more chapters. The story is unfinished, and I haven't set myself a particular goal for when the journey ends, but I have high hopes of getting to an appropriate place.