An Unexpected Proposal

Summary: As Bilbo sat smoking in his empty hobbit hole, he couldn't help but wonder – when did his life become so boring? Or better yet – when did his old life stop being enough?

He suspected the answer to that question lay somewhere around the time when he had refused Thorin Oakenshield's offer of marriage.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. I'm just having some fun borrowing the characters.

Author's note: This fic follows (most of) the cannon events of the book, especially regarding Bilbo's relationship with Thorin (= no hug on Carrock). I'm writing the dwarves with the movie characters in mind (they aren't very developed in the book).

This will be a very slow, Austen-type romance. There are a lot of issues for them both to work through and I wanted their relationship to be believable. If slow burn is not your thing and you'd prefer to read something smutty, look somewhere else.

Chapter 1 – Bilbo's adventures in boredom

"And he lived happily ever after."

Bilbo tipped the quill into the ink and brought the tip down to write the final sentence of his book. His hand stopped right above the page, however, hesitating. Somehow, it didn't feel quite right to write that down.

The quill hovered above the paper in a moment of uncertainty, the ink slowly sliding down the shaft to form a drop at the tip. Bilbo watched the ink accumulate with a strange, dreamlike sort of detachment.

At the last moment before the drop could fall and smear across the page he pulled his hand away, letting the ink spill back into the inkwell. He sat back and ran a hand over his face.

So much for finishing the book.

He stood up and went to the window, stretching his arms above his head until his back made a satisfying pop. A light breeze blew through the open window, carrying the scent of lilacs and violets.

Had it really been three years since the day Gandalf the Grey came to his door with an offer of adventure? To Bilbo, that morning seemed a lifetime ago.

Sometimes Bilbo awoke in the morning almost convinced that the whole quest to Erebor had just been a long dream. On those days Bilbo visited the locked chest in his study, where he kept all the keepsakes from their journey, and spent long moments holding the Sting in his hands to remind himself that he - Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire – had indeed seen trolls and battled orcs and talked to a dragon.

Bilbo hadn't kept much from the journey – just his little sword, the mithril mail and a few trinkets from the dragon hoard. Since he had given his share of the treasure to Bard (and even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to take it all home, anyway), there hadn't been much for him to take. On the way back he had been briefly tempted to dig out the chest in the troll hoard, but in the end decided against it. What would he do with so much gold, anyway? He had little use for treasure, rich as he already was.

His morning writing finished, Bilbo cooked himself lunch, dusted the sitting room and took a stroll around the garden. He left the house an hour before the afternoon teatime and went down to the Hobbiton market to buy some bread and cheese for breakfast. Noting that he was running low on milk, he bought that as well and also two quarts of flour, since he planned to bake some cookies the next afternoon.

The matron behind the stall watched him with eager, curious eyes.

"Preparing for company, Mr Baggins?"

"No, Mrs Hardbottle, this is just for me." He gave her a polite, if a little strained smile. "I ran out of flour yesterday and need to restock." He counted the change and started to turn away, but her voice forced him to turn back.

"What will you be baking?" She leaned forward over the counter. "I made the most wonderful meat pies yesterday. You should try making them too, they are so filling, ideal for lunch. I'll give you a recipe if you like. The secret is in the spices, you see..."

She went on about her achievements in baking and Bilbo found himself unwittingly drawn into a conversation about cakes and custard. When he finally managed to untangle himself from her grasp, he discovered that his favourite cheese was already gone and the butcher had sold out his best stock.

Bilbo's mood matched the grey rainclouds overhead when he started his long journey up the hill with a heavy basket in hand, having refused Ludo Boffin's offer to carry the groceries for him.

Later that evening, as Bilbo sat smoking in front of the fireplace in his empty hobbit hole with nothing to do, he couldn't help but wonder – when did his life become so boring? Or better yet – when did his old life stop being enough?

He suspected the answer to that question lay somewhere around the time when he had refused Thorin Oakenshield's offer of marriage.

°O°O°O°

Bilbo made it a point not to think about that day very often, since the memory made him angry and embarrassed at the same time. This night, however, with May just around the corner and the smell of smoke hanging in the air, it was impossible not to remember.

With a grimace, Bilbo extinguished his pipe, his appetite for pipe-weed now entirely gone. He walked to his bedroom, deliberately avoiding looking at the kitchen and dining room, and laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

It was a long time before he fell asleep that night but when he finally did, he found himself in a now painfully familiar dream:

Bilbo limped toward the tent, the freshly stitched wound in his side throbbing with every breath. Balin had come to find him in the healing tent, his face pale and serious.

"Thorin has requested your presence. He's not well."

And so Bilbo went, his imagination providing him with vivid images of Thorin on his death bed, drawing his last breath. He had to stop a few feet from Thorin's tent and lean on a nearby post, waiting for a minute until the flickering lights in front of his eyes disappeared.

Óin sat in front of the tent with a wooden bowl in his lap, mixing some kind of foul-smelling green concoction. Bilbo gave him a friendly nod.

"How is Thorin?"

"He'll be fine." The dwarf assured him. "For a moment there, I was worried he won't make it, but the elves gave him something and it worked like a charm. Give him a few weeks and he will be back out there, hunting orcs."

Bilbo closed his eyes as he felt relief like a wave fill his chest, flooding away some of the worry and unease he had felt since the moment he had left the company at the wall. Thorin will be fine, thank Valar.

Óin continued. "I told him to sleep, but he's stubborn. Said he had to talk to you. Probably wants to apologize for the scene on the wall." He leaned closer. "To be honest, I'm surprised that you are willing to see him at all."

Bilbo just shrugged, not willing to go into an explanation of his motives. Óin seemed to accept that, gesturing for Bilbo to enter the tent.

Thorin's eyes opened when Bilbo came in, focusing on him in a flash of blue.

"Marry me," Thorin said, his voice raspy.

Bilbo's mouth fell open. He had been called away from the infirmary, battered and bloody and barely able to walk, for this?

"What?" He was sure he had misheard. Thorin couldn't have said what Bilbo thought he had just said. "You want me to marry you?" he said slowly, tasting each word as it left his mouth. It still sounded ridiculous.

"Yes," Thorin nodded. He had some difficulty making the movement, because his head was wrapped with what looked like a mountain of bandages.

Bilbo took an unsteady step back. Óin had apparently forgotten to mention that Thorin had taken a hard hit on the head and was now talking utter nonsense as a result.

"No." Since it sounded rather weak and unconvincing, he decided to repeat it. "Thank you for the offer, but no." He shook his head for good measure to make his opinion on the matter eminently clear.

Thorin frowned.

"You refuse, then?"

Bilbo gave him an incredulous look.

"Of course I do. How did you even get such an idea in the first place?"

"I thought-" Thorin paused, reconsidering, "I see now that I was wrong to assume that such a persuasion existed on your side." He tilted his head in consideration. "May I at least know the reasons for your refusal of my offer?"

"My reasons," Bilbo shook his head, incredulous. "Well, I suppose it's only fair." He took a deep breath, part of his mind still feeling disbelief that this situation was really happening.

"Thorin," he began, "the last time we saw each other, you threatened to kill me. You held me above an abyss with the full intention of throwing me off a wall." He enunciated each word carefully to remind Thorin of his actions in case he had forgotten about it, and felt a small thrill of satisfaction when the dwarf flinched at the description.

Now that he was forced to remember the whole ordeal, Bilbo's anger started to rise. He didn't bother to try to suppress it, as he felt his ire was righteous. He took a step closer to the bed without even realising it.

"I may forgive you for that eventually, but certainly not today. I do not take kindly to threats." His face hardened. "And I do not care that you were under the thrall of gold-fever at the time. It may have passed for now, but who is to say it will not come back eventually? I do not fancy being dropped from one of those high pathways in Erebor just because you're cross with me some day."

Thorin looked horrified at the idea. "I would never-"

"Can you guarantee that you will not again abandon reason at the sight of a pile of gold?" Bilbo didn't wait for Thorin's answer, knowing it already. "You can hardly blame me for not having the slightest inclination to accept your offer after what you have done to me."

He turned to leave, but Thorin's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Is this what you think of me?" His voice was quiet, but there was a darker undertone in it. Bilbo couldn't quite pinpoint it. Anger? Resentment?

Bilbo turned back. "Well, yes." He shrugged. Thorin apparently still wasn't satisfied with his reasoning. If he wanted honesty, he would have it.

"To be quite honest, you did not make a very favourable first impression and since then you have done little to improve on that. From the start, you have been nothing but rude and arrogant, treating me with scorn and condescension. You only started to treat me more kindly after I helped you escape from the elvish prison, and that was still only a few steps above civility. The moment something didn't go your way, you went back to treating me with disdain. I am sorry if I find it a little hard to believe that you have held some kind of ardent regard for me all this time, disguised under the contempt."

Under normal circumstances, Bilbo would never be so blunt, but he was achy and tired and angry at Thorin for reminding him of the horror he had felt when he had dangled from a wall.

Thorin scowled at him from his position on the bed, visibly displeased with both Bilbo and his own forced passivity.

"So this is the answer I get," he said, each word like a shard of ice, "after all I have done for you, all I have given you." Before Bilbo could make the protest that he didn't recall Thorin giving him much besides the mithril coat, Thorin continued. "I suppose I should not be surprised. After all, my decision to ask you goes entirely against tradition, propriety and my own better judgement."

"Propriety? Better judgement?" Bilbo's voice rose an octave. "Why did you ask me at all, then?"

"I am beginning to wonder that myself." Thorin frowned. "I see that you are determined in your decision to refuse my offer."

Bilbo nodded. "I am."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss," Thorin said. "I believe it will be preferable if you leave Erebor at your earliest convenience. You are no longer welcome here."

Bilbo felt the finality of those words settle around him like a heavy cloak. He couldn't say he was sorry to be leaving the stench of dragon waste and piles of corpses behind, but he had hoped to spend more time with his friends.

"As you wish. Farewell then, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. I am no longer at your service." With a small bow he left the tent and never looked back.

In his haste he almost ran into Balin, who was standing right outside the tent, shaking his head.

"Well, laddie, you sure gave him a piece of you mind."

Bilbo suddenly felt embarrassed by the whole scene. He hoped nobody else had listened in on their conversation.

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough." The old dwarf sighed. "Not one of his better moments, I'm afraid. It is too bad you have to leave. Everyone was secretly hoping that you would decide to stay in Erebor permanently."

Bilbo gave a small, humourless laugh.

"You know, I think I might have enjoyed living in Erebor. I wasn't planning on it, but the idea did cross my mind once or twice before. I guess we will never find out now." He looked around. "Have you seen Gandalf? I was hoping he would help me get home."

After that the memory stopped and dissolved into dreamy confusion where Bilbo spent days searching for Gandalf in the camp, which eventually transformed into Mirkwood, where the trees kept talking to him in elvish, telling him that he couldn't go home because the squirrels had forbidden it and then a giant bear appeared out of nowhere and started chasing him.

Just as he was about to be eaten by the beast, the gigantic maw closing around him in endless lines of teeth, he woke up, heart racing, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. It was a long time before he fell asleep again.

°O°O°O°

Bilbo got up that morning in a cranky mood, which didn't improve when he saw the rain outside his window. The day passed at a snail's pace. All of a sudden his spacious hobbit hole felt small and cramped and the walls of the tunnels seemed to close down on him when he walked through them.

He tried to read, but quickly lost interest in the familiar stories. He decided to bake wafers instead of cookies and gave half of the batch to the Gamgees. Since his book was already finished, there wasn't much for him to do.

By the time the sun started to descend behind the horizon he gave up and went to fish out his old travelling pack. He had everything put together in less than an hour. His hand hesitated over the hilt of the sword, but in the end he decided to take only his walking stick.

The next day Bilbo set out at the crack of dawn, leaving a note on the door. He soon fell into a comfortable pace, enjoying the way his lungs filled with fresh air and the slight burn in muscles that hadn't seen exercise for a while.

He arrived in Tuckborough at nightfall, tired to the bone but happier than he had been in a long time. He had almost forgotten how good it felt to be out on the road, with endless sky over his head and fresh grass under his feet.

He spent a few days with the Tooks, visiting relatives and entertaining children with tales of his exploits. When he set out again two weeks later, it was with a promise of adventure that he no longer scoffed at.

Two of his younger Took cousins, Isembold and Fortinbras, stopped by Bag-End at the beginning of June, talking excitedly about the old watchtower on Weathertop. Since Bilbo had already seen it twice and knew the way, he graciously offered to serve as their guide.

They enjoyed a pleasant fortnight on the road, travelling east without any disruptions. They made a camp at the foot of the hill, tied their ponies to a nearby tree and started the long climb up the hill, because both young hobbits insisted on seeing the ancient ruins.

After much exclaiming and running around, Bilbo finally managed to convince the boys to climb down from the rocks and head back to the camp. They planned to spend the night under the hill and start their return journey the next morning.

As they descended the last slope of the hill, their camp came into view and Bilbo saw their ponies rearing in fright, trying to escape from the huge wolf-like creature that was advancing on them. If someone asked Bilbo why he had done what he did, he wouldn't have been able to answer.

Feeling as if someone else was controlling his limbs, Bilbo stepped forward, drawing his little sword.

"Oi, that's my pony, you ugly beast!" With his other hand he picked up a rock and threw it at the wolf's head, drawing its attention away from the horses.

The warg turned, his enormous jaw falling open a little in anticipation at the sight of new prey. Bilbo braced his feet and raised his sword, shoving the younger hobbits behind his back without thinking. He vainly tried to remember Dwalin's lessons in sword-fighting, but the roar of blood in his head was wiping away everything except anger and fear.

The beast started running towards them, its hind legs bending in preparation for a jump. Time seemed to slow down around Bilbo as he watched the warg take off the ground, its huge head coming closer. Bilbo was vaguely reminded of the bear dream he'd had a few weeks ago, the two images overlapping in his head to form one gigantic line of sharp teeth. He had been powerless then, but he wasn't now. Now he had Sting.

Bilbo stood his ground as the warg landed almost on him, the force that had powered his jump now bearing him down onto the hobbit's sword, driving it deeper into the roof of its open mouth. The warg gave one last angry growl before it shuddered and stilled, inertia propelling its body forward until it landed on Bilbo, who was still holding onto his sword and hadn't been fast enough to jump aside.

The force of the impact knocked his breath out of him and he lay on his back, half buried under the warg's head and stared at the clouds above, his mind spinning with adrenaline and disbelief as the events of the last half minute finally caught up with him. Had he really deliberately provoked a warg? And killed it?

Twin cries of concern roused him from his reverie and soon two heads appeared over him, the hobbits staring at him in agitation.

"Are you all right, Bilbo?"

"I think so."

Bilbo raised his head and tried to move his arms. Both appeared to be functional. Good. One of them was still buried in the warg's muzzle, but luckily wasn't broken. With some help from his friends, he managed to wiggle from underneath the carcass, noting with some displeasure that his clothes were torn and sprayed with the beast's blood. He was otherwise unharmed, thanks to the mithril coat hidden under his clothes, which had managed to withstand the pressure of warg teeth.

The full impact of what he had done didn't quite drive home for him until he was standing next to the corpse, looking down at the slain beast. This close, he could finally take in the sheer size of the creature.

"Did I really kill that?"

The hobbits were staring at him with wide eyes, their gaze sliding between Bilbo and the warg in a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"I think you did, Bilbo," said Isembold. "I've never seen anything like it. What is this?"

"It's a warg. A huge wolf from the northern mountains," he added in explanation. "I've seen them before."

He finally gathered his wits enough go looking for his sword. Sting was lodged deep in the wolf's skull and it took him several minutes of wrenching before he could pull it out, scratching his hand on one of the warg's canines in the process. He wiped the sword on the grass and sheathed it.

"I think it would be better if we headed home straight away. These creatures like to hunt in packs. There could be others around." The two hobbits looked around in alarm, scrambling to gather their things.

Packing the camp gave them plenty time to recover from their shock, so when they were all ready to go, Fortinbras insisted on taking a souvenir from the warg to have a proof of their adventure that they could show at home. Reluctantly, Bilbo lent them Sting and the boys scampered off to cut off the wolf's largest tooth and claw.

Now that the worst of their fear had passed, their Took blood prevailed and they appeared very excited about Bilbo's feat of bravery. They came back a few minutes later, each of them holding a few fangs as long as their arm. At Bilbo's urging they stuffed them in their backpacks and mounted their ponies, which had finally calmed down from their earlier fright.

Later, when they had left Weathertop far behind and the setting sun was bathing the countryside fiery red, Isembold turned to him, his head cocked in curiosity.

"Is this what all your adventures are like?"

Bilbo sighed.

"I would love to say no, but I'm afraid that would be mere wishful thinking on my part."

"So all that stuff with the trolls and spiders is true?" asked Fortinbras.

Bilbo nodded.

"Wow."

Seeing the identical looks of hero worship start to form on their faces, Bilbo decided to put a stop to any fool ideas they might conceive in their heads.

"And before you ask – no, I am not taking you to see the stone trolls. One stray warg was plenty for me to handle, thank you very much."

They both deflated a bit but recovered quickly, their excitement over the death of the warg lasting all the way to Shire.

°O°O°O°

Their trip had some unexpected consequences for Bilbo's standing among the hobbits. While before they had dismissed his tales about trolls and dragons as fanciful nonsense and products of an addled mind, now they had to admit that he maybe wasn't a liar after all.

The young Tooks hadn't wasted any time upon their arrival before they headed for the nearest pub to tell everyone about their exploits. Despite Bilbo's numerous protests, they took to calling him "Bilbo Wolfslayer" and showing the fangs to anyone who displayed a hint of interest in their story. The Took part of the family, especially, was very impressed by the tale of their trip and soon enough, Bilbo found his hobbit-hole full of curious youngsters, begging for a story.

His newfound popularity didn't sit well with everyone. Some of his neighbours kept shooting him mistrustful glances and a few of the older hobbits even started to close their doors when he passed. Mrs Hardbottle outright refused to sell him groceries. Funnily enough, Bilbo didn't find the last one much of a hardship.

"Tell us about the dragon, Uncle Bilbo!"

The youngsters were once again camped in his front garden, their curly little heads turned in his direction expectantly.

"Did you really kill it by yourself?" asked one of the children sitting at his feet.

"Aye, Bilbo, tell them how you slew a dragon," said a familiar voice by the gate.

"Bofur!" Bilbo jumped to his feet. Bofur grinned at the assembled hobbitlings, who were staring at him in awe.

"Bofur the Dwarf at your service." He made a deep bow before them, sweeping his hat in a wide arc.

"Are you really a dwarf, mister?" asked one of the little girls.

"Of course I am a dwarf," Bofur sounded affronted. "Don't you see the beard?" He tugged at his chin. Several of the children giggled.

"Children," Bilbo said, "could you leave us alone for a while? I haven't seen my friend in a long time and I would like to talk to him." He leaned closer to them. "I promise mister Bofur will be more than happy to tell you plenty of stories tomorrow."

The children pouted but left eventually, throwing curious glances over their shoulder. Bilbo would bet his mithril coat that some of them would soon come to spy beneath the kitchen window.

He gestured for Bofur to come inside, closing the door behind them. The moment the door shut Bofur stepped forward and gave him a brief hug, which Bilbo happily returned.

"It's nice to see you again, Bilbo."

"You too, Bofur." He led the way into the kitchen. "How much food should I prepare?"

"Bombur is right around the corner," Bofur said, grinning.

"Then it is a good thing that I have replenished all my cheese."

They both laughed, the easy camaraderie settling down between them like it had never left. Bilbo started setting the table for lunch with Bofur's help and they chatted about the dwarf's journey from Erebor. Bombur came in a few minutes later, still puffing from the climb up the hill.

"Should I expect anyone else?" Bilbo asked him.

Bombur shook his head.

"No, it's just the two of us. We're going to the Blue Mountains to help our mother with moving to Erebor and to get our stuff. Some of the others may pass this way eventually, but we're the first to go back. Everyone else is busy with the rebuilding of Erebor."

"And how is that going?" Bilbo poured them each a mug of ale.

"Dragon did a lot of damage," Bofur's normally cheerful demeanour dimmed a little. "We spent weeks just cleaning out all the corpses, both from the battlefield and the inside of the mountain. Not the most pleasant of jobs. Do you have any idea how much orcs stink when they're dead?"

"Even more than they do when they are alive?" Bilbo chanced. Bofur gave an amused laugh.

"You guessed that right. It was disgusting. We couldn't burn the corpses because we needed the wood for the winter, so we just dug out huge pits and threw them in there. Some of them were already rotting."

Bilbo cleared his throat pointedly, waving his piece of roast in the air.

"So, the rebuilding of Erebor?"

"Oh, right," Bofur had the grace to look a bit embarrassed about his choice of table talk. "We started with the living quarters, since those were mostly intact and worked from there..."

He spent the next few hours telling Bilbo about all that had happened in Erebor since his departure. In return Bilbo told them about his own (largely uninteresting) life in the Shire. Now that they had light, both dwarves showed a great interest in Bilbo's dwelling, persuading him to give them a tour of the place.

Bombur paused by the mantelpiece, picking something up.

"Is this a warg tooth?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"Well, that's quite a long story," Bilbo started, but before he could say anything more, there was a brief knock and the door opened, two hobbit lads stumbling in.

"You'll never guess what we discovered, Bilbo!" One announced loudly.

The dwarfs exchanged a glance before looking a Bilbo. The hobbit shrugged in apology.

"I'm sorry. I completely forgot they were supposed to come for a visit today." He called into the hall: "Boys, come here. I have some visitors that may interest you."

The lads came at once, peering curiously at Bilbo's companions.

"Are these the dwarves that travelled with you?"

"Some of them, yes," Bilbo nodded. "This is Bofur and Bombur." He pointed respectively.

"At your service." The two dwarves made perfectly synchronized bows.

"And these two rascals are my younger Took cousins, Fortinbras and Isembold," Bilbo introduced. "I made the mistake of taking them on one of my trips once and they have been pestering me ever since."

"Oi!" Fortinbras protested. "You like our company."

"Did you know that Bilbo killed a huge warg all by himself?" Isembold chimed in, eager to impress the dwarves. "We saw it."

"We really did," Fortinbras nodded vigorously. "He's got the teeth to prove it."

"Is that what these are?" Bombur picked up one of the fangs.

"Well, if you wanted to hear the warg story, you couldn't ask for more enthusiastic storytellers," Bilbo said with a smile. The two lads beamed at him and scampered to the kitchen to get some extra chairs.

The dwarves watched with amusement as the lads made them all sit down so that they could "tell the story properly". It was clear that they were taking special care with the narration, occasionally getting up to act out the more dramatic moments. Bilbo watched from the doorway, entertained by the whole scene.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly, with plenty of food and laughter. The young hobbits decided to spend the night at Bag-End and they all drank long into the night.

Since it seemed the next day that the hobbits were determined to stay for a while, Bilbo decided to do something about it. He liked their company well enough, but he wanted to spend some time just with the dwarves, knowing they would leave for Blue Mountains in a few days' time.

"Have you ever been to the Old Forest on the borders of Buckland?" he asked them at breakfast.

They both shook their heads. Bilbo leaned closer over the table to give his whisper the right conspiratorial tone.

"The folks say that the trees there can talk and even move. Paths change at random and when you walk far enough, you can hear whispers around you."

"Is that true?"

"Well, the elves seem to think so," Bilbo didn't feel the slightest bit guilty for invoking that magic word.

"Really?" They were looking at each other with growing excitement. Bilbo congratulated himself on a job well done.

"Really," Bilbo said. "I have never been brave enough to go very deep into the Old Forest, but I can tell you that it's almost scarier than Mirkwood."

"Brilliant." They jumped up from the dinner table, cleaning up their plates. "We'll get going, then." They started towards the door.

"One more thing," Bilbo called after them. "Go during daytime. The forest isn't safe at night. I would hate to have to go rescue you because you got caught by an evil tree."

"Bye then!" they called and they were gone, the door shutting behind them.

Bofur gave him an amused grin.

"That wasn't very nice of you, Bilbo, lying to them like that."

"I wasn't lying," Bilbo said, buttering his bread. "All of it is true, to an extent. The forest really is creepy. I wouldn't set a foot there, especially not after Mirkwood." They all grimaced. "I think I have been cured of my love for forests for a good while."

°O°O°O°

It wasn't until evening the next day that Bilbo finally found the courage to breach a subject that had been weighing on his mind since he had left Erebor.

"You're not angry with me? For leaving like I did?" he asked them quietly as they sat by the fire smoking, the sky behind the window an inky black. Bofur looked up from the small statuette he was whittling.

"Should we be?" Before Bilbo could answer, the dwarf continued in a gentle tone. "Bilbo, we understand. The battle was hard on everyone, but it must have been terrifying for a peace-loving creature like you. We were all disappointed when you left, but understood why you felt you had to get away."

He walked over to the hobbit and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"We don't blame you."

Bilbo closed his eyes in relief for a second, before giving Bofur a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Bofur. Knowing that means a lot to me. I was worried that I had lost my friends when I left Erebor like that. It is nice to know that I was wrong."

"You never lost us," Bofur assured him. "Thorin may have treated you horribly because of the Arkenstone, but the rest of us have always been on your side."

Bilbo gave the hand on his shoulder a grateful pat.

"I'm glad to hear that." He stood up and put his pipe on the mantelpiece. "I think I'll turn in for the night. I was planning to make some pies tomorrow. Do you like blueberry pies?"

Bofur smiled. "I love them."

°O°O°O°

They ended up staying for another three days. Bofur quickly became a favourite of the local children, because he was able to do the troll voices much more convincingly than Bilbo. Bombur won the hearts of the local matrons with his fruit tarts. Bilbo wasn't the only one who was sorry to see them leave.

"Mind if we stop by again?" Bofur asked. "We're leaving the Blue Mountains with the caravan in spring. There is plenty of time to come for a visit in the meantime."

"I will be happy to let you stay for as long as you wish," Bilbo assured them. "Come by anytime."

They gave him one last round of farewells and left, their figures getting smaller as they walked down the hill.

Bilbo watched them go with a smile. It was good to have his friends back.

To be continued...

Author's Note 2: This is a WIP. The final work will be around 80 000 words long. I will be posting chapters three times a week. 12 chapters are already written, so I should be able to keep up the posting schedule fairly reliably.

I freely admit that the initial idea for this was shamelessly inspired by Pride and Prejudice, especially the proposal scene. This story is however not an adaptation and the rest of the fic stands on its own. I only borrowed the idea that two people first must confront their own pride and admit their mistakes before any meaningful romance can take place.