Am tweaking canon—mainly, slapping Bilbo with a bit (or a lot) of an anxiety disorder. It's not a major personality change (and can be justified, at least in part, by the presence of the Ring), but I think it's distinct from the way he's portrayed in the book, so it's worth a mention.
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{a prologue, of sorts,}
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Looking back on it now, Bilbo honestly doesn't know what he was expecting.
(He's never been good enough, not for anyone—not for the Bagginses or the Tooks or anything in between, and certainly not for the dwarves who burst so abruptly into his life. He's a freak, and nobody—nobody—wants him around.)
(It was a foolish hope from the start, thinking that he might have finally found happiness.)
Living in the Shire was...nice, he supposes. He never truly wanted for anything—except companionship, of course, but he knows he's been lucky to have the few acquaintances that he does. His pantry was always stocked; his smial was comfortable and inviting, even if his visitors were few and far between. But nothing truly terrible had ever happened to him. His home hadn't been stolen by a dragon; he hadn't fought and killed and watched his friends die at the hands of murderous beasts; he hadn't struggled to make ends meet, to put food on the table and a roof over his head...
He knows he has no right to complain, but he was just so lonely...living on his own as the master of Bag End, not-quite-ostracized by the other hobbits and hating every moment of it.
And then, of course, thirteen dwarves and a wizard invaded his pantry and his home and his life, and he knew nothing would ever be the same again.
(As the journey went on, he believed—he hoped, with every fiber of his being—that they would be the family he hadn't had in decades. He dreamed of Erebor just as they did, though perhaps for different reasons, and he allowed himself to think that maybe they would allow him to stay, when all was said and done.)
Of course, he's known since he was small that he's never been good enough for anyone. Why should Thorin Oakenshield and his company be any different?
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{but first...}
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i: he's a stranger among friends,
They've been on the road for a week or two, and Bilbo thinks he's starting to adjust to this new life. He knows to be ready to move before the last of the dwarves, lest Thorin lash out at him; he knows to ride near Balin or Ori or even Fíli and Kíli during the day, as they are the kindest to him.
(They are the kindest but still keep him at a distance, as if not sure what to make of him—the hobbit who so reluctantly joined them to go slay a dragon. Likely, they're trying to figure out why he decided to come along.)
(Bilbo is wondering the same thing.)
He wakes early this morning, as he is wont to do, and rolls over to see Bombur making breakfast in the center of camp. Despite the fact that he often chats with Bofur, Bilbo realizes that he knows next to nothing about the larger dwarf; he seems content to ride near his brother or cousin, nodding and laughing when appropriate but rarely joining in the conversation.
Bilbo doesn't know why—he barely knows anything about dwarves and their culture—but with their love of cooking and their shyness, he'd like to think that he's found a kindred spirit in this one.
So he smells the stew Bombur's making, using what's left of the rabbits Kíli shot the night before, and makes his decision. He rummages through his bag as quietly as he can and pulls out a package of spices, standing and making his way toward the fire.
"Good morning," he greets kindly, stepping carefully over Dwalin's outstretched legs as he mumbles and twitches his nose in slumber.
Bombur spins in surprise, half-raising his ladle as if expecting an attack. He flushes red as his hair when he sees who it is, and quickly inclines his head. "Good morning, Master Baggins."
"Please, just call me Bilbo," he says, waving a hand before offering the spices. "I just thought you might like some help...I brought these from Bag End, if you'd like to use them for breakfast."
Bombur only stares at him for a moment, and Bilbo wonders suddenly if he's somehow insulted him, whether offering to help a dwarf is the most offensive thing you could possibly do. (It wouldn't be the first time he's made such a blunder.) But then the moment has passed, and Bombur smiles and takes the bag, sniffing it briefly. "Do hobbits enjoy cooking?" he asks curiously as he drops a small amount into the pot. "I haven't met many dwarves who do."
His voice isn't boisterous and cheerful, like his brother's; nor is it loud and harsh, like his cousin's. But Bilbo finds it easy to talk to him, and they start up a cheerful conversation as the rest of the dwarves begin to wake. By the time everyone is moving around, breakfast is ready, and Bilbo helps dole out stew as the others bring their bowls.
(He avoids their gazes as best he can, terrified of angering someone before the day's travel has even started... And because of this, he misses the way Thorin's stare is a little less harsh than normal. Instead, he glances almost bemusedly between Bilbo and Bombur, who gives him a pointed look before turning away.)
Regardless, when he rides near Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur that day, Bilbo finds that conversation comes a little more easily to all of them. Bofur's smile is impossibly wider than it has been in the past; Bifur seems just as wild as before, but his fondness of Bilbo is clear as he claps him on the shoulder and says something cheerfully in Khuzdul.
And suddenly, Bilbo finds himself hoping that maybe this adventure won't be so lonely after all.
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ii: a sorry excuse for a burglar,
In Rivendell, he's been entranced by the waterfalls and the music and just the sheer, overwhelming presence of the elves... He's been so distracted, in fact, that it takes him longer than it should to notice that his new sword has gone missing.
He tries not to worry, because it's likely that it's only Kíli stealing it away to poke fun at "Mister Boggins"...or else it's Gandalf, having taken it to discuss important things with Lord Elrond that Bilbo can't hope to understand. He tries not to worry but thinks he's failing miserably, because Kíli has been playing dice with his brother and Bofur all evening, and Gandalf is in counsel with Thorin at this very moment, surely trying to persuade him to accept the help of the elves.
(Bilbo has his concerns about whether the dwarf's thick skull will eventually get them all killed, but knows to keep them to himself.)
He has no idea of where his blade has gone and even less of an idea of where to start looking for it, so he simply gives their quarters a cursory glance before walking out into the hallway, nodding at a curious Balin but saying nothing before he makes his way down the hall.
He's read about elves, of course; he's heard so many things about them...but nothing quite measures up to meeting them, to stepping foot within these impossibly intricate wooden halls, looking out upon the vast landscape of Middle Earth. It nearly looks like a painting, it is so perfect; if Bilbo didn't know better—
A small blade at his throat stops him dead, and his eyes widen as he backs up quickly, hand going for his sword before realizing it's still missing. Before he can properly process what is happening, before he can think to call for help or wonder who would be attacking him in the elves' home...he realizes that the knife's edge has not followed him. He looks around to see a dwarf stepping out of the few shadows in the well-lit hall, smirking at Bilbo—and holding out the hobbit's sword.
Nori.
"You're dead," he quips as Bilbo snatches his sword back and reattaches it to his belt. "Not much of a burglar, if you can't even stop a knife..."
Bilbo feels himself flushing (he's been thinking the same thing), but he doesn't want to back down...not in front of the dwarf he barely knows. "I never said I was a burglar. If you're making that assumption, then the consequences are entirely your own fault."
Nori hums in agreement, though his gaze isn't full of the scorn Bilbo is expecting. Instead, his eyes are calculating as he looks Bilbo up and down, and they stand in silence for several seconds longer before the dwarf nods. "Well, I'll just have to teach you then, won't I?"
"Wh—teach me what?" He's utterly blindsided by this announcement...after all, of all the dwarves in the Company, Bilbo thinks he knows Nori the least. He keeps to himself, usually only talks with his brothers—and even then, only rarely. Bilbo knows nothing about him, has barely even spoken to him...and now, he's offering to teach him...what? What does he think Bilbo could possibly learn about fighting?
Nori laughs, then—and his smile is wide, showing too many of his teeth. "You haven't heard dearest Dori complaining about my choice of profession? Dwalin isn't fond of me, either—I'm surprised word hasn't reached your ears. I'm not the most...honest worker, shall we say. I could teach you a thing or two about thieving, if you'd like to come out from under the dragon's nose alive."
Oh. He has indeed noticed the sideways glances from the larger dwarf, the way Dori seems to get irritable with Nori faster than he does with anyone else...he's always chalked it up to strange dwarven dynamics, but this makes perfect sense as well. And he feels a brief flash of fear (he's dangerous he's a criminal he could kill you right here and now) before shoving it down, because surely Nori wouldn't have been allowed on the quest if he were a threat? Thorin is pigheaded and stubborn, yes, but he isn't stupid. Surely, Nori means him no true harm.
So he finds himself agreeing, planning on meeting with the dwarf the next afternoon at the elves' sparring grounds. Bilbo's expecting condescension, something a little like irritation in Nori's gaze as they part ways, but he is surprised to see nothing of the sort. Instead, the dwarf is looking him over with almost an approving look, as if Bilbo's decision has pleased him in some way, like he was hoping Bilbo would want to learn to defend himself.
(He doesn't understand, because every time he's been lacking in some skill in the past, his neighbors and teachers and friends poked fun at him...taunted him for being ignorant and refused to help him as he struggled on his own. Nori doesn't seem ready to do any of that... He only seems to recognize that Bilbo does not know how to fight, has never had to know how to fight. And now that he does needs to, the dwarf will take it upon himself to teach him.)
It's a strange reaction, something he's never expected from anyone, but Bilbo finds that he doesn't mind this acceptance...not at all.
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iii: and not at all worth the effort to keep around…
Staring down the Pale Orc on the clifftop, of course, such basic swordsmanship as he has learned by this point hardly matters.
He knows Thorin has gone still behind him, knows that killing this monster's second-in-command has guaranteed him a painful death, knows that the other dwarves are too unstable on the tree to ever hope of helping him—
He knows Thorin is going to die without a proper warrior to defend him (that he himself is going to be tossed aside like a leaf, but that hardly matters because he's only a lowly, useless hobbit—but Thorin is a king, and without him this quest cannot hope to continue), and he feels the dread settling heavy in his gut as he swings his sword wildly. Anything Nori's taught him about stance and grip flies right out of his head, his mind blanking in pure terror as Azog grins maliciously down at him.
It seems his time is up.
He's bracing himself for death even as he prepares to go down fighting, protecting Thorin for as long as he possibly can (they need him, he needs him, Fíli and Kíli will be heartbroken and the others will never forgive themselves and who is to rule Erebor if not its King under the Mountain?), hoping desperately that a miracle will fall out of the sky—
And then the screeching of the eagles fills the air, and Fíli and Kíli and Dwalin come hurtling out of nowhere with weapons aloft, and Bilbo only allows himself one glance back toward Thorin's prone form before throwing himself into the fray.
Even if he's a useless burglar, a poor fighter and not in the least bit suited for a quest of this magnitude, he'll be damned if he doesn't go down fighting to defend those he cares for most.
(And yes, he does care for them, even if the dwarves are brusque and often short with him when he shows exactly how inept he is at so many things. He cares for them, and he likes to think that they care for him as well, and are just not so very good at showing it.)
(It's probably not true, but he can pretend, at least for now.)
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As it turns out, everyone is going to be all right—though Thorin is rather the worse for wear—as they stop for the day at the base of the Carrock. Thorin wants to continue until nightfall, but Óin will have none of it; he strips the king from the waist up and begins tending to the mace wound to his chest, the warg bite on his shoulder. It's not a pretty sight, and the murderous, pained look on Thorin's face is difficult to witness. Bilbo stands abruptly and volunteers himself to go gather firewood for when night falls, not waiting for a reply before making his way into the trees.
He's not sure how long he is gone…is too wrapped up in the post-adrenaline haze that's been clouding his mind since the goblin caves. Everything is crashing down on him all at once—the goblins and the creature beneath the mountain and then the orcs and wargs—he killed today, and it was his first time ever taking another sentient creature's life; it leaves a hollow, nauseous chasm in his heart that he thinks probably shouldn't be there. After all, he was protecting Thorin—protecting his friends—and he was simply eliminating a threat.
(So why has it shaken him so terribly?)
He likely spends more time in the woods than is strictly necessary, but he needs to steady his shaking hands and his ragged breathing before returning to the Company. They would only see such things as weakness, after all; none of them have so much as batted an eye after killing (surely hundreds of) goblins in what must have been a chaotic escape from the caverns. He has only just gained their favor, and such a failing is simply unacceptable. He decided to go on this quest; he is a grown hobbit, who is supposed to be able to take care of himself…and he needs to start acting like one.
(Somehow, fingering the strange golden trinket he stole from the creature gives him strength, allows him to steady his breathing and calm his mind. He does not know what it is—except that it grants invisibility—but in this moment, he is grateful for it.)
(Soon enough, any thoughts of bringing it up with Gandalf slip from his mind.)
By the time he finally returns, Thorin is bandaged and sitting rather grumpily against a tree, barking orders to the others as they set up camp. Nobody says much, but Bilbo suspects that this is due more to sheer exhaustion rather than any ill will; Ori seems to be swaying on his feet as he helps clean Óin's medical supplies, and even Bofur's cheerful attitude has been greatly muted by all that has transpired.
It's not even midday yet, but they haven't had a proper night's rest...and after the goblins and the orcs and the eagles, it's beginning to show.
Gandalf seems to notice this as well, for as Bilbo leans down to deposit the firewood, the wizard crosses the camp to stand by him, thumping his staff against the ground to get everyone's attention.
And when he tells them all to get some sleep, that he will keep watch for the afternoon, nobody argues.
Bilbo makes his way toward the nearest available space—a few feet to the left of Fíli and Kíli, who seem hell-bent on sleeping near their uncle despite his protests—and practically collapses to the ground without bothering to get comfortable. (Maybe, if he sleeps for a few hours, he'll be able to get his mind under control. The monsters and the killings and the sheer desperation he felt in his heart…maybe they'll seem far away when he wakes up.)
He's halfway asleep already before he even registers someone calling his name. After a moment, he looks up blearily to see Thorin staring over at him, a strange expression on his face… "I did not thank you," the dwarf says abruptly. "For what you did on the clifftop."
"Hmm?" It takes him a moment to process this, but when he does, he only waves a hand in Thorin's direction sleepily. "Was nothing. Anyone would've. Just go to sleep."
"That was not nothing," Thorin presses, the crease in his brow deepening even as Bilbo feels his eyes start to flutter closed again. (And he thinks he agrees with Thorin, even if he will deny it to the end of his days because this is exactly what he signed up for, and everyone has made it clear that weakness has no place in their company. He has to pretend that it was not the single most terrifying experience of his life.) "I have only been cruel to you since we left the Shire—you had no reason to—"
"Couldn't just let you die," Bilbo mutters, propping his drooping head up on a hand in a concerted effort to stay awake. (It's not really working.) "You—"
"I will not accept excuses," Thorin says, and his voice hardens momentarily before he sighs and continues, "That was a heroic act, one I could not have expected of you. And for that...I am in your debt."
But he's wrong, Bilbo thinks, despite the way he feels like glowing at the praise; had anyone else been in his position, had any of the other dwarves been able to gain enough leverage to stand from the tree in time, they would have done the exact same thing. And they would have done a better job of it, too—instead of haphazardly hacking the orc to death, they would have needed only one strike from a sword or axe or hammer...and once that was taken care of, they would not have hesitated to face down Azog to the death, to defend Thorin until only one of them was left standing.
(And he realizes, vaguely, that those same thoughts were running through his head on the cliff, that he was prepared to die in order to give Thorin a few seconds longer to live, but surely it does not mean as much, coming from him...surely, the others would have done something different, something more effective...)
He thinks Thorin is talking, his voice regretful and pained, but Bilbo is too exhausted to listen. He falls asleep, thinking of everything he could have done, rather than everything he did...
(After all, he's only a lowly hobbit who can't even kill one of their enemies without agonizing over it for hours.)
(He doesn't regret chasing after them, not for a second, but he knows they cannot possibly return his affection...because in the end, he's just a soft, incompetent creature who's never had to learn to fight.)
And today, that nearly cost Thorin his life.