A/N: Hey, guys! So, I know it's totally uncharacteristic of me to post an A/N before you've even read the chapter, but this particular baby just had to be mentioned: Remember what I said a few chapters (and A/Ns) back about Smaug and little Frodo not making an appearance for a little while? Well, I lied. Sort of...Please bear with me and my foggy brain. I'm suffering through post-braces attachment pain and haven't been thinking quite straightly, hence the writer's block. I'm so sorry and I hope y'all enjoy the chapter.

Recap: Bilbo is deemed well enough to have dinner with the Castle's other inhabitants. To his surprise, his 'personal escort' for the night is none other than the Castle's master, Thorin Oakenshield, himself. While walking to the dining room, the two share another sweet moment that leaves the both of them thinking (not to mention, completely needing to) about kissing the other. The evening ends with Thorin and Bilbo washing the dishes together in the kitchen, watching the stars through the kitchen window, almost sharing a kiss, and Bilbo having to settle for Thorin's forehead to plant one on instead, thanks to two expert moment-ruiners named Fili and Kili.

CHAPTER 15:

Darkness fell much more quickly over Hobbiton whenever winter approached. Also, the signs of turning in for the night became much more pronounced. Everywhere Smaug looked, windows were being shut (but not before it's occupants nodded respectfully at him), lamps were being trimmed down to their rosiest glows, and children were being ushered into their beds by tired parents, their moans of "But I'm not sleepy yet!" slipping out from under the door frames.

In a way, it was peaceful, soothing, and gave off a sense of order and tranquility. But that was not the feeling Smaug felt at the moment. No, it was something...stronger. Hatred was more like it. He hated the fact that everything was so boring in this town, and that Bilbo Baggins had gone missing almost two weeks ago, but nobody had even bothered to even search for him.

Well, unless you counted Frodo.

But then again, nobody did.

At the thought of Bilbo's precocious nephew, Smaug's blood boiled. And if piercing looks could have set the entire village and the lightly-falling snow on the tops of their roofs on fire, Hobbiton would have been a blazing inferno by now.

"I'll get you soon," Smaug promised viciously as he walked past Bag End, the solitary light in the window being the only indication that anybody lived there at all. These days, the teen barely walked out of the front door, and if he did, it was only for a short while and to do some important errand that needed doing. He didn't even talk to Sam Gamgee or Rosie Cotton anymore, let alone Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, who were the only other living relatives he knew of.

Smaug could hardly find it in him to care. He would, though, if Frodo suddenly keeled over and died. A smug smile crept onto Smaug's lips at the thought. Wouldn't that just be a wonderful early birthday present?

Shifting the bags hanging on his belt, Smaug walked on, his fingertips brushing against Bag End's faded gate. All of it would soon be his, there was no doubt about that. Not if his mission was successful.

Soon enough, his feet led him to the guardsman at the gate. Tom stood up at once, his back bent, thanks to years of suffering from osteoporosis. "Where you goin'?" he asked, suspicion in his tone. Unlike all of the villagers in town who practically idolized Smaug, Tom loathed him and saw him for what he really was: a cold-blooded reptile who loved killing and did it for the thrill that came with it.

"None of your business, old man," Smaug answered smoothly. In one fluid motion, Smaug unhitched one of the little cotton sacks at his waist and threw it at Tom. The other caught it with fumbling fingers, and Smaug rolled his eyes when it slipped through Tom's shaking fingers, and fell to the ground. It's contents made a small, clanking noise as metal met pavement; a gold coin spilled out of the sack's loosened top. Tom's wizened gray eyes grew large.

"For my passage?" Smaug said.

When Tom didn't reply, Smaug sighed almost resignedly and drew a large knife from his belt. Then, he pushed the blade underneath the man's chin and pressed quite hardly: Tom felt blood seep down his throat; he swallowed. Then, he made up his mind.

"Alright, then."

Smaug slid the knife back into it's sheath with a crocodile grin on his face.

"Nice doing business with you."

"I don't usually let visitors into the Asylum in the middle of the night, but your ugly friend said you'd make it worth my while, precious," Gollum cooed, caressing the gold ring that he wore on his right finger. As usual, his voice was raspy from coughing and drinking too much, his nine remaining teeth gleamed sickeningly in the harsh lighting.

Smaug tossed the remaining bag from his belt onto the table. As before, the top loosened itself from it's knot, and gold coins spilled out onto the tabletop. Gollum pounced on them at once, his deft fingers moving them to his side of the table before Smaug could grab them back.

"I'm listening," he said, though his reactions were quite au contraire, for he was now too busy counting the contents of the bag. "It's like this: I've got my heart set on marrying Bilbo Baggins, and he's gone missing, but I have a feeling that if my plan works, he'll come running right into my hands," began Smaug.

"Everyone in town thinks that his nephew, Frodo, is a lunatic right now, what with him coming into the tavern a few nights back and rambling on and on about how his uncle was taken by a...how did he put it? Oh, yes, right. A 'beast in the old castle in the woods'."

Gollum stopped counting his loot.

"Frodo is...quite harmless. I should know, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins dropped him off here once while she did her summer shopping. He's a good enough lad, precious."

Smaug ignored this statement.

"The point is, Bilbo would do anything at all to make sure, and to keep him, from being locked up."

"So, you want me to throw Frodo into the Asylum, precious, unless he agrees to marry you, precious?"

Smaug nodded, once, twice.

Gollum's face contorted into something unreadable. "Oh, that is despicable, precious!" But before Smaug could even make a cry of outrage, Gollum clapped his hands together and cackled out loud, throwing his head back and giving Smaug a full view of his teeth.

"Oh, I love it. When do we start?"

Smaug grinned.

Bofur wasn't the smartest of the flock, that much everybody knew. Nor was he the most good-looking, the neatest, the cleanest, or any of the superlatives for all of the nice-sounding adjectives out there. And yet, the middle-aged gardener had something that others didn't: the ability to stay positive at all times.

Not to mention, the ability to see whether things were brewing between a certain Beast King and his newest friend. Specifically one that had curls the color of honey and eyes that gleamed like forest moss.

"What d'you think's going on between King Thorin and that little chap, Bilbo?" Oin asked him during one slow day in Thorin's orchards, the cold December wind whipping into their hair and blowing the medic's graying beard askew. Bofur straightened up, his spine clicking nicely as he stretched. After he finished brushing the soil from his hands, he shrugged, a good-natured smile on his face.

Oin spluttered.

"Oh, come on! Surely you know something? You're with Bilbo most of the time. Or the time he doesn't spend with Thorin doing Mahal-knows-what, anyway. You're practically his best friend here," he pointed out. "Exactly," responded Bofur cheekily. "I'm his best friend and best friends don't go around telling other people their best friend's secrets. Now, if you'll excuse me, Master Oin, I believe the begonias on the other side of the Castle are calling my name."

And with a jaunty wave, the gardener was off, leaving Oin standing in the middle of the medicinal herbs' patch with a flustered expression on his face.

"How many times do I have to tell you: Don't slurp! Two words, Thorin. Two words. And yet you couldn't even remember them for all of the gold inside this Castle."

Thorin merely sighed and leaned his cheek into the heel of his hand, gray-blue eyes staring not at the man sitting across him for once, but outside the dining room's snow-frosted window pane.

"Are you even listening to me? Hello?"

Bilbo's hand came down on the table with a loud crash!, jolting Thorin back to Earth and Erebor Castle. His paw accidentally slapped down onto the hard wood, sending silverware and food flying everywhere. Bilbo rolled his eyes and slid out of his chair, bare feet barely making noise on the cold tiles.

"Care to help me, Your Majesty?" he said condescendingly.

The Beast King grinned, all pointy canines and gleaming molars. "As you wish, Your Shortness," retorted Thorin. Bilbo's eyes widened at once, a faux look of pain coming over his face. "T-T-Take that back!" he pretended to stutter, while Thorin's throaty chuckles started to fill the room.

All he got in return, however, was a chunk of butter on his nose, handily launched from the spoon Thorin was currently holding.

"You. Didn't."

"I just did."

"Oh, it is on."

Without further ado, Bilbo grabbed a handful of grapes from the still-upright fruit tray and threw it at Thorin, hitting him squarely in the face.

"Ha!" Bilbo squealed with triumph. There was jam in his hair and orange juice in his eyes, courtesy of Thorin's almost-perfect aim, but he couldn't have cared less right now. He was happy, and that was all he could feel, not to mention, think about, at the moment.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when another piece of Thorin's breakfast, a half-slice of ham, smacked him on the spot between his eyes. "That's not fair!" he protested. "I was distracted!" Thorin merely smirked at Bilbo and pelted him with another piece of nearly-eaten up ham.

"All's fair in love and war, Bilbo," he said in his rich, baritone voice.

"Oh, shut up."

And so the food fight continued, the items on the table disappearing more and more as Thorin and Bilbo went all-out with their weapons, ranging from juices to fruits to viands.

"I'll get you this time, Baggins!" Thorin screamed from the other end of the table. "No, you won't!" Bilbo sang as Thorin's spoonful of eggs and bacon bounced off Bilbo's improvised shield (a colander). The match finally ended when Thorin dove underneath the table and upended it, the candlesticks and silverware falling to the floor with loud crashes.

"Oops," he muttered.

Bilbo smiled, amused at how adorable Thorin sounded and looked, what with his fur all mussed-up and his eyes alight with adrenaline. "What on earth am I going to do with you, Thorin Oakenshield?" he muttered, fondly but sternly. Blood rushed to their cheeks the minute the words were out of Bilbo's mouth. The both of them tried to look somewhere else, but set about to tidying the dining room up, anyway.

With the both of them working together, the room was completely tidy in minutes, save for the dirty splotches and ugly stains on the room's newly-changed carpet, which just so happened to be in a lovely peach color.

"Oh, Dori's going to have a fit," Bilbo hissed as Thorin and he carried the dishes, broken and unbroken, to the kitchen for sorting out and washing. "I'll take care of it," Thorin mumbled, winking playfully at Bilbo.

The wave of nostalgia that swept over Bilbo the minute he saw the kitchen sink was amazing. To think that just a few weeks ago, he and Thorin had been standing right there, just an inch away from the other's lips. Almost as if his hand had a mind of it's own, it flew to his lips, caressing the bottom part, remembering the feel of fur against soft flesh.

"Bilbo? You alright?" Thorin asked, nudging Bilbo's shoulder softly.

"Huh?"

Thorin rolled his eyes.

"You were staring off into space. And usually, you do that whenever you're thinking about something. What is it?"

Bilbo set the plates down on the counter, ran his fingers through his curls, and hopped up on the sink before he answered.

"Well...it's just...d'you remember?"

"Remember wha-Oh! Yes, yes. I do. Very much."

An awkward silence settled over the kitchen. Bilbo and Thorin bit their lips simultaneously, once more thinking about the wonderful evening they'd almost shared with each other, before Fili and Kili had to go and ruin it.

"Thorin?"

"Hmmm?"

"You know, I might sound crazy for saying this, but...I'm really glad I took Frodo's place. I really am."

For the first time in minutes, Thorin stared at Bilbo, gray-blue boring into green, shocked to see that Bilbo was already looking at him. Before either was aware of what they were doing, Thorin leaned in, and Bilbo merely closed the gap between them. Like before, their lips were but an inch apart, when the kitchen door burst open, two sweaty-faced princes barging into the room like they owned it.

"Uncle? Are you in here? Your surprise for Bilbo's ready!"

Bilbo thanked his rarely-lucky stars that the sink was hidden behind a wall. Otherwise, the situation would've been much more awkward than it already was.

"What? Oh, yes! Yes! We were just finishing up with the plates. We'll be with you in a moment," Thorin called back.

"Alright, then," Fili hollered.

His voice was way too loud for the echo-y kitchen, but it suited the scene perfectly: it filled the awkward gaps in the picture that Bilbo was currently in.

"Surprise?" he asked, once he heard the kitchen doors swing shut.

Thorin turned back to him with the ghost of a smile on his face.

"You'll see."

He held out his paw, retracting his claws so as not to injure Bilbo. Without hesitation, Bilbo took it and linked his fingers with Thorin's, ignoring the warm feeling in his stomach and the fact that with Thorin's hand in his, he felt like he could fly to the moon.

Frodo was awakened by the sound of fists thumping on wood.

He stumbled out of bed, shook his disheveled curls into the neatest position possible, and practically ran to the door, not even daring himself to hope that it was his dear Uncle, returned to him at last.

Instead, he got an unwelcome view of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' face, instead, her haughty expression turning Frodo's morning, if it was even possible, much more dourer.

"Here," she said, handing him a filled-to-the-brim wicker basket. Frodo took it gingerly and peeked underneath the lid. There were all sorts of food inside it, and tempting though it was, he wasn't just going to accept all of the free food without any explanation as to why she was giving it to him.

"What do you want?" he asked, not even bothering to be polite. This was the woman who humiliated him at family reunions and get-togethers for eight years, after all. He didn't owe her anything.

Lobelia's steely blue eyes flashed, and Frodo recoiled, scared that she would finally strike him across the face.

"Nothing. Just looking out for you, my dear nephew."

She reached out and took one of Frodo's cheeks, pinching it raw. He slapped her hand away, and it took every ounce of willpower in his body not to slap her smartly across the face, too.

"I don't need it," he said, all but thrusting the basket back into her hands. "I've got enough food here until..."

Until Uncle Bilbo returns.

The words hung in the air, though Lobelia seemed to slow to keep up with Frodo's train of thought.

"Nonsense. You take it."

Frodo snorted.

"Please. If I knew any better, the jam's probably maggot-infested and the carrot cake's been expired for at least three days now," he said defiantly. He saw Lobelia falter slightly, and he knew at once that he was right. The little fact made him stand just a little bit straighter.

"Clever, little nephew. But you do know that the food you have in there," she nudged her nose in the pantry's direction, "won't last forever. Bilbo's too busy prancing around with the Elves in the Forest to even think of you, my sweet. Soon enough, he won't even remember or care about you. Though I doubt he even did in the first place, what with him going batty even in his younger years, the old twat."

That was the final straw for the teen.

With his fists clenched, Frodo reached into the basket, pulled out the carrot cake, and stuffed it straightly into Lobelia's mouth. She staggered backwards, caught off-guards. To Frodo's glee, she tripped over the front step and rolled right down to the bottom, the basket's contents tipping all over her and her cotton skirts.

"And don't come back!" he shouted, loud enough to attract the Gaffer's, Sam's father, attention. Frodo didn't miss the thumbs-up he flashed the thirteen-year-old, though.

He shut the door behind him, locked it, and then slumped against it. Frodo wiped the sweat on his brow off his forehead.

That was way too close.

Soon enough, Lobelia wouldn't take no for an answer, and she would just barge into Bag End and take over everything that his Uncle Bilbo had worked so hard for in the past few years.

"I've got to find him, help or no help," Frodo muttered, the cogs and gears in his brain whirring rapidly.

He thought quietly for a minute, then he smiled grimly.

Frodo had a plan. A good (and slightly stupid) one, at that.

Oh, well. At least he would have his Uncle Bilbo back within a few days if everything went according to plan.

If.

"Shit," he mumbled.

Erebor Castle's library was filled from floor to ceiling with every title, topic, and genre possible, as Bilbo soon found out.

His eyes grew as large as saucers when Thorin's paws dropped away from where they had been covering his line of view. Bilbo slightly inclined his head to the side. Thorin could see the dazed smile on his face and the way his eyes had suddenly glazed over.

"So...do you like it?"

Bilbo found his voice at last.

"But, what is it for?"

Thorin shrugged.

"Consider it an early Christmas present from-OOOF!"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

For Bilbo had suddenly pounced on Thorin and wrapped his skinny, but strong arms around the King's neck, burying his nose in the crook of Thorin's shoulder, enjoying the heady, but sweet scent of fur and cinnamon mixed together. After a moment's hesitation, Thorin hugged him back, his nose deep in Bilbo's curls.

"You're welcome. And I'm glad you like it."

They stood there for a while, merely hugging each other, Thorin supporting most of Bilbo's weight while the other repeatedly snuffled into Thorin's soft fur. Finally, they broke apart, Thorin looking a bit dazed as well. He brushed Bilbo's hair out of his eyes, and stroked Bilbo's cheek gently.

"I'll leave you to your reading, then?"

"That would be lovely."

A/N: Oh, my gosh, you guys! I am so sorry for breaking my promise and not updating on Fridays and Saturdays anymore like I said I would. Please, please, please try to bear with me and know that it literally kills me not to write about our lovely OTP (or brOTP) as much as I would like (I personally blame the blatant lack of freaking Wi-Fi on top of Mount Makiling (A/N: It's in the Philippines!) where my school is located, but then again, who's counting?). Add that to the fact that our Social Studies, Music Theory, Science, and Math teachers seem hellbent on giving us so much homework that I don't even have the energy to go on tumblr anymore (Which is sad, indeed).

A sign of just how stupidly tired I've been these past few weeks.

Oh, well. At least I got all of that out, and now you know why I've been practically AWOL on here (And no, mysterious anon reviewer who sent me a PM, I am not dead, nor am I dying. I am fit as a fiddle...just majorly stressed...and retarded).

Sighs.

Also, please know that reviews give me much more mojo juice to write new chapters, since most of you guys really do say the sweetest things :) Just putting that teensy-weensy fact out there.

Hugs and Kisses!