It's not a meme I promise! So, this fic is thanks to aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain on tumblr and is part of the Bagginshield Summer Surprise writing/art prompts that were given out. This was mine: "I think fireflies never looked more beautiful." Thorin's POV

Thorin always thought that home was a place- the kingdom of his childhood- but when Bilbo's made himself and the rest of the company into one large family right under his nose, he's forced to reconsider just what that means to him, and just why Bilbo seems to be the answer to a question Thorin didn't even know he was asking.

Thorin had never put too much thought into his childhood. Oh sure, he thought about it- nigh on every day since the dragon had come, but he'd never thought about it.

He would remember the vast halls and the glittering mines of his grandfather's rule, the echoes of his siblings' laughter from the days when all their worries amounted to stealing tarts from the royal kitchens, the way he'd been a prince on top of the world- assured that he would rule with the same honor and dignity of his forefathers.

Thorin would remember the flourishing peace and the prosperity of his people to keep himself going in the dark, cold nights of their exile- the nights he had to bring himself so low simply to ensure survival. When the honor and dignity he had dreamed of was nothing but a story, and his rule was spent bowing to the whims of the swindling villages of men, paying homage to their gods and their wants and their perversions- when he was nothing but Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarven smith, those idyllic memories were all he had.

Thinking of his childhood kept him alive.

The reminder of what had been was what led him to the Blue Mountains, it was what pushed him to build his people a new home and ultimately it was what brought him to head out to reclaim Erebor numbering only thirteen- and a hobbit.

When his sister had found her One and had given him Fili and Kili, she had given the people of Erebor hope. More importantly however, she had given Thorin hope.

One might have thought that having a family, having roots, would have given the king something new to dwell on besides a past long since lost- and indeed that's likely what his sister had imagined- however for Thorin it rekindled his memories of Erebor of old. He'd thought many years on taking back their homeland, an idle wondering here and there, never fully formed for fear of- what? The dragon? Uprooting his people once again for a war they never signed up for? A repeat of the battle that took his grandfather, his father and his brother from him?

Thorin could never say why he turned his thoughts away when they strayed too close to reclaiming Erebor- could never feel truly comfortable when the golden tinge of memory became the future in his mind's eye, but one particularly harsh winter when Vili died and he and Dis went hungry to feed her sons, he once again used his childhood to warm his heart at night.

He'd realized then that the prince he had been, the glory and prosperity he remembered, could never belong to his sister-sons. Not here, not when they struggled day to day to live. So he would give it to them in Erebor.

Dis had screamed and pleaded, 'I can't lose you too!' she had cried. When Fili and Kili, only just of age, chose to follow their king and uncle she had wept and raged. 'How dare you! How dare you take from me all that I have! How dare you send the last of those I love to die in the flames of that monstrosity!' But Thorin would not be swayed. He'd seen the glory of their kingdom, the glory that Dis had been too young to know and he swore to give it back to her. To all of them. He swore that he would finally do right by his people as king and restore them to their birthright.

Many had told him he'd already done well by them, that his leadership had been proven when he did not abandon them- not after Smaug, not after Khazad-dum, not even after their resettling in Erid Luin. Balin had prodded and Dwalin had done the thing with his eyebrows that said he was done with Thorin's moping and self-deprecation and Dis had straight out hit him.

When the company had been formed, each and every member had implied the same in one way or another. Ori had looked at him in awe and asked all the scholarly questions expected of such a skilled scribe, Dori had spoken of loyalty to 'those who already brought us prosperity' as his motive for joining (unspoken was the obvious mothering of his brothers) Nori had already spoken his word years ago when he'd more or less elected himself as spymaster- much to Dwalin's chagrin. Bifur held him in high esteem from the battle at Dimrill Dale and his cousins felt his leadership in the Blue Mountains had revitalized their home- all seemed to feel indebted to him. Óin and Gloin agreed- they credited him with their lives and families in the West. Thorin protested.

Gandalf was an enigma, urging him to march on Erebor while also singing his praises for previous 'accomplishments'. As if keeping oneself alive was worth commendation. Even the Hobbit was against him- Balin had told the tale of his epithet and that was that, suddenly Thorin was a king of legend, even if he was 'surprisingly obstinate and irrationally irritating' in the hobbit's own words.

The Hobbit. An odd creature to be sure, and one that confounded Thorin at every turn. Where Dwarrow were sturdy, Hobbits were soft and small, where his people were accustomed to hardship and travel, this being was used to leisure and home. And that- where dwarrow sang songs and told stories of great deed of old, of a legacy, this little hobbit who had none of that, knew more of Home than any of them.

Bilbo Baggins- soft, cultured, toddling off into the wilds with them like a lamb after wolves- understood better than even Thorin himself the importance of Home.

Thorin had first noticed it a few weeks into the journey, when the going was easy and the boredom was filled with stories and songs. He'd been watching Master Baggins near constantly since they had first set out, initially not for any reason other than his protection of course. While Thorin's words hadn't been a lie- he couldn't guarantee his safety, nor the safety of anyone here for that matter- it didn't mean he wasn't going to try. He watched him now for… different reasons.

No matter the reason why, Thorin observed the hobbit- watched him acclimate to a species not his own and begin participating in the sharing of stories and songs. But something was off. It could have simply been a cultural difference or a personal one, either way it drew Thorin's attention. The stories Bilbo told, they were not of great deeds and heroics of generations gone (the story of Bullroarer Took being the only exception) but of summertime folly- pig racing and pie thieving and splashing in creeks on a hot afternoon. They were stories that told of family and joy and comfort, all things Thorin had come to associate with hobbits, yes, but also something he found he could not associate with the dwarven members of the company.

It irked him, especially so after the Goblin tunnels and the Carrock. He watched, and watched some more, and he saw Bilbo Baggins of the Shire become Bilbo Baggins of Erebor and the Blue Mountains without even trying. He saw this little fellow who was as oblivious to the world as you could get, accomplish something Thorin himself had been trying to do for nearly a century.

When Thorin thought of home, his mind first went to Erebor, then to Dis and Fili and Kili. The company it seemed, had found their own home in eachother, but why was he not a part of that?

Naturally, Thorin did as Thorin does, and he went off on his own to brood think in Beorn's gardens as the sun began to set. Where did it all start? Was it Bilbo's participation in the revelry and song versus Thorin's observation? Was it his stories?

Thorin thought. Yes, that seemed to be it. All his stories had centered around Home, around the 'golden years' of his childhood.

Maybe that was it? Childhood? But Thorin thought of his childhood often, told stories of it, the glory days of Erebor, often. What, then, made Bilbo and his stories more indicative of Home than his? Was it that the Shire was still there? That Bilbo hadn't lost the things that made it home?

No, that couldn't be it either. Thorin remembered a particularly enlightening, if saddening evening in which their hobbit gave reason for his initial reaction to orcs; he explained that during the hobbit equivalent of the harsh winter that spurred Thorin to this quest, orcs had invaded the Hobbit's idyllic Shire and he'd had to hide and watch his mother be torn apart by Wargs as a child, and later watch his father fade because of it. Thorin had sympathized, and his respect for Bilbo had increased rather dramatically afterward. However, he realized that Bilbo's stories were never set after that, only before. He'd lost his family, and as such, his home.

It made sense then, that finding the company and bonding as family would produce this idea of home, Thorin thought. But why? Why was it that these stories were different? Why was Home so unattainable for Thorin with his constant stream of childhood memories but so easy for Bilbo who spoke fondly but rarely of his?

Thorin's musings were interrupted with a plate full of food bumping against his shoulder. "You nearly missed dinner Master Oakenshield, however, I thought you might need some food after the past few days."

Bilbo sat down with his own plate after handing Thorin his and began to eat in silence and Thorin once again observed him in contemplation. "Eat, you need it. Don't think I didn't see those bruises of yours when Óin was fussing at you by the river earlier."

"Thorin." Thorin blurted.

"Pardon?"

"Just Thorin. No need for titles Master Baggins." Thorin had been meaning to say that for weeks now, he'd admitted to himself that Bilbo was one of the few people he felt truly comfortable with.

"Then I'll thank you to return the favor Thorin, it's just Bilbo." The hobbit smiled and again Thorin found himself so befuddled- ever cheerful, quick witted, just entirely unexpected in every way. "I'd like to think we're friends by now."

The king nodded and they ate together in silence as the sky grew dark, the sense of Home that seemed to follow Bilbo wherever he went wrapping itself around Thorin and confusing him even more.

After they had finished and the plates set aside in exchange for a smoke, small golden lights began to flicker out in the field around them and Bilbo exclaimed in awe.

"Lightning Bugs! I wouldn't have thought there would be any this far East, but Beorn seems to have everything!"

"Lightning bugs?"

Bilbo didn't look away from the aerial display but responded anyway. "I think the menfolk in Bree call them Fireflies, they're all along the Bywater during the summer. Many a wedding has been planned at just the right time and place for these little guys to attend."

Thorin was watching Bilbo watch the bugs, the hobbit's hand twitching as if to reach out and touch them but eventually settling for pointing instead. Thorin's hand wanted to brush the hair away from Bilbo's eyes so he could see them.

"I remember," He laughed. "When I was a faunt, mum would take me down by the water every Stersday during the warmer months with glass jars with holes in the lids to try and catch them. She'd say that if I were to catch some and keep them at my bedside they'd keep the dark away for the night, but as a thank you we'd have to let them go home in the morn."

"My people know them as Fireflies as well." Bilbo looked to him as he spoke, so Thorin turned to look off at the light display, suddenly unreasonably timid.

"I too remember them from when I was young; the first time I was allowed outside the mountain I was with Balin on one of very few outdoor balconies and we saw the fireflies down by the River Running. I didn't know what they were, but I was mesmerized by the way they moved about- lazy and without purpose, disappearing and reappearing as they wished. They were beautiful. I think I wanted to be one- having been raised with nothing but a purpose, my whole life planned out for me- I never got to disappear as they do."

He looked to Bilbo from the corner of his eye and, seeing the tender expression aimed his way, coughed and turned back to the fireflies.

"Balin told me that they were fallen stars come down to guide those who were lost by the river. It was… fittingly poetic for him, but I didn't learn that they were actually glowing bugs until I had made a suitable fool of myself in front of my parents."

The laughter from both of them that followed was warm and happy, and they continued to watch the golden lights dance through the grass closer and closer until Bilbo reached out and caught one.

He held it cupped in his hands and looked in on it through a crack in his fingers, appearing for all the world a child for whom the magic of the world was still dancing all around him. When he held his hands out for Thorin to look, Thorin wrapped Bilbo's hands in his own and brought the glowing light within to eye level.

He had only the chance to see a bright dot before it whizzed out at his face and startled the both of them into laughter once more.

"Y'know, I thinks that's the first story you've told that's actually about you this entire trip." Bilbo spoke quietly, afraid to disturb the fireflies or Thorin, neither knew.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just, I've heard all about Erebor and how great it used to be, golden halls, silver fountains and all that, but… it was your home. I've not heard anything about what you used to do as a child, how your lessons were boring, what you did with your siblings, how you lived. I know how great of a kingdom it used to be, but you've not said much about how great of a Home it was."

Bilbo kept talking, but Thorin wasn't really hearing it. He'd spent so long wondering why, that he hadn't considered what. His mind was whizzing through all the memories he had of Erebor, but this time under the lens that Bilbo had shown him.

Thorin remembered chasing Frerin down the hallways, tripping and hurting his knee, commiserating with his brother before Dis was born that they didn't need a sister, when Dis had reached up as a baby and pulled on his and Frerin's hair and they decided right then and there that this small hairless thing was theirs and they were going to protect it.

Somehow the feelings of righteousness and glory that were synonymous with Erebor in Thorin's heart were replaced with the same warmth and hope that he'd felt when Fili and Kili were born, that he felt whenever he was around Bilbo- Home.

That was what it was. It wasn't the stories or the songs or the kingdom of his past that meant Home, but the people with him. Dis had it right all along, yelling at him as she did when he left with her children to face down a dragon. And it had taken a hobbit and some fireflies to show him that.

The people he loved, they were Home now, and Thorin startled himself realizing that Bilbo was one of them. He had been for a while; the warm feeling Thorin had always had around him, that aura of family that he at first thought was reserved for the rest of the company, that was Home. Bilbo had brought them all together, had turned them into a family, and Thorin hadn't even noticed.

Bilbo had stopped talking when Thorin returned to reality and was looking at him with concern as he'd failed to answer a question apparently asked.

"Thorin are you all right? You suddenly turned a bit pale there and- Thorin wait- oof."

Thorin had leaned over and was ever so gently pressing their foreheads together, eyes pressed shut as if to ward off tears. He was fairly certain Bilbo had an idea of what it meant, he'd seen it among the family members of the company often enough and sat quiet and unprotesting, but it was unlikely he understood the full implications. That was fine with Thorin, Bilbo didn't need to know just yet.

It was gentle and emotional, Thorin whispering a quiet 'Thank You' laden with sentiment before he leaned back and opened his eyes. Bilbo didn't ask what for.

The two of them looked down to realize that their hands were still entwined and they flushed, but didn't move away. They both tacitly agreed to turn and keep watching the fireflies that had remained undisturbed and unaware of the emotion going on between their spectators. It was funny, the driving need Thorin had once had to reclaim Erebor had diminished, like a building wave suddenly folding back into a gentle tide, warm and lapping at his ankles instead of crashing down over his head.

Thorin sat there hand in hand with his hobbit choosing not to think of how he was marching the family he had just found to the den of a dragon and their very possible deaths and instead focused on the fireflies.

In that moment he could almost believe that they were fallen stars once again, guiding him back from where he had lost himself to the idea of glory. His people had been right, he understood it now. They didn't need vast golden halls or glittering mines or fountains of silver to be the dwarves of Erebor. They were already that.

All they had needed was a king who could give them a new home, and it seemed Thorin had done it. He had never thought that he could be both King of Durin's folk and Thorin Oakenshield the smith, but in reality they were synonymous. He found he needn't be ashamed of his exile- as Balin had once told him, a good king can let go of his pride for the sake of his people.

How strange that it took so much but so little to make him realize that.

The sky had fallen dark and much time had passed when Bilbo's head came to rest on Thorin's shoulder, the glowing trails of the bugs still dancing around them endlessly. And when Thorin turned to see the soft joy and contentment illuminated on the hobbit's face, he thought to himself that fireflies had never been so beautiful.