~Erebor, October 2941~

"You intend to go?"

Bilbo set the bag down in Gandalf's cart. He nodded, smiling at Ori.

"Erebor is your home and I am glad to have been a part in taking it back, but this is not my home. I belong in the Shire."

"But Thorin lifted his banishment! You don't need to go back. The road is still quite dangerous and—"

"I made my decision," Bilbo said. "I'll keep in touch."

"At least say goodbye tonight at the celebration. Thorin's gold madness has passed, everyone is well, and you are one of us. If you really intend to go, at least stay one more night and say goodbye."

"And my resolve to go will lessen if I stay any longer."

"But Bilbo—"

"Bilbo, we must go," Gandalf said.

Bilbo climbed into the cart beside him.

Gandalf shook the reigns once, commanding the horse to walk.

Bilbo looked back once, spying the shadow of the King leaning against the pillars…

~Bag End, April 2951~

The light blue carpet is covered in blocks. The small bed in white sheets is still made. The window shines, reflecting moonlight in the room. Bilbo entered the room, kicking toys out of his path.

"I keep telling you to put your things away, Frodo," he whispered to the sleeping child in his arms. He set the boy down on the bed, pulling the covers out from under him to lay over him. "We'll worry about it in the morning."

He kissed the child's forehead.

Frodo whimpered, clutching at the sheets.

"Mama."

It had only been three months and still Frodo did not understand his mother was gone. And his father. That they had gone somewhere he cannot go. Not yet. Not for a very long time, if Bilbo could help it.

Bilbo closed the door behind him, heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

He adored the child. Bilbo had resigned himself to a lonely existence before the need for the little one to have a guardian arrived. And Bilbo was fond of Drogo and Primula when he lived. It seemed the only and right thing to do: taking Frodo into his care.

Frodo often wished to go home, not yet understanding that Bag End was his home now. The lad missed his parents. It was only to be expected.

The kettle whistled and Bilbo removed it from over the fire, filling the pot with orange peels, cinnamon, and steaming water before filling the tea into a tea cup and going to the library to read.

Mounted on the wall was a crumpled map of Erebor, the red ink dragon beside Lonely Mountain. He stared at it a moment, debating once again returning.

He shook his head. It was too late to do anything of the sort. Letters over the years were piled one on top of the other, keepsakes of news from his friends back in Erebor.

Most of his correspondents were Balin, Ori, the brothers, and Gloin, discussing politics, catching-ups, and family as they could.

Balin is Thorin's advisor now. Ori is head of the library. Fili had married Dwalin's daughter Dwarka two years ago. Kili has risen as an outstanding warrior and already a captain in Erebor's new and still growing army. And Gloin always had something to say about his son Gimli.

There were other letters. Sometimes, the others had an urge to write, and would, but often they could not for whatever reason.

And there was only one, annoyingly short letter, which came just before Frodo's parents drowned from Thorin. That the King had not written him before now irked Bilbo—more than that: it enraged him. He had read it and reread it often and it now was in his had.

My dearest Bilbo,

I cannot say enough how sorry I am for what I did in my anger. I would never, could never, hurt you. You know this. However I did and it is fear, not pride, which stayed my hand from writing you till now. I know I have no right to contact you. But I need you to know I miss you. Even now, I miss you. I still love you, Bilbo. I do not know if you will come back, but you would be welcome graciously.

Forever yours,

Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain son of Thror

King under the Mountain

Bilbo read it again.

He knew Thorin was bad with words. He always spoke better with his actions, but really! Less than half a page was not even close to enough to appease Bilbo. If anything, it was oil on a dying fire. He hadn't even come up with an answer to give Thorin. After all, what could be said?

You hurt me. I cannot go back. Why should I forgive you? Damn it, I still love you too.

He already had a stack of letters to send back to Erebor for the latest letters that came from Fili, Ori, Balin, and Gloin. He also wrote a letter for the whole company telling them about Frodo. He thought he should write a reply to Thorin, but he didn't know what to say. Perhaps he shouldn't respond to it at all, given how long it took the King to dare reach out to him.

Sure there were tells that Thorin had been nervous in writing it: crossed out lines still readable if Bilbo squinted, lines that looked blotchy from the quill pressing to hard…

But forgiveness was hard to come by this time despite how easily Bilbo found it to forgive. He could forgive a lot. Being held over a ledge and afraid for his life? No. That was beyond his power to give.

There was murder in Thorin's eyes that day. Real murder. He had all intention of killing Bilbo and it was not Gandalf's words that stopped Thorin, but fear of the Wizard's wrath.

Bilbo stood and set the letter down on his desk before deciding it'd be better to read a book instead of think about a relationship that never was.

The only thing that passed between them was a profession at Beorn's house where Thorin asked him to let the king court him. Bilbo had accepted then, but then the matter of the Arkenstone happened and…

He thought he left the shirt there, but he found it in his pack the night after he left with a small note:

Keep it. You may find need for it someday.

He picked up the novel he had been reading, a fiction about a world where people did not live like those of Middle Earth.

It was a land where only Men existed and of the strife they caused.

Bilbo thought the "electrical" contraptions mentioned would make things easier for some of the people he knew—

He heard a horse's whinny outside and looked up, brow furrowed. It was almost ten o'clock. Sure, some people would be out still, but not on this street!

Bilbo set his book down and peered out the window. He couldn't see anything but his dim reflection in the glass. He squinted, trying to look past his reflection and the rain.

Someone tall was lurking in his yard.

Bilbo backed away to get Sting and patted his pocket though he knew his ring was still there. He grabbed the Mithril shirt and pulled it over his head. He paused, seeing the faint glow of blue from within Sting's sheath.

Bilbo swore. He kept the sword sheathed and ran to Frodo's room, hoisting the lad in his arms.

The door crashed, waking Frodo, who looked around wildly.

"Hush, Frodo," Bilbo said. "We'll play a game, okay?"

Frodo nodded. Bilbo smiled, setting him down. "We have guests and they want to play hide and seek, so hide under the bed and be very, very quiet so they do not find you."

"Okay," Frodo said, getting on his knees and crawling under the bed frame.

"Remember, do not make a sound. I will be hiding somewhere else, but remember…"

"Do not leave here and be very quiet."

"Good lad." Bilbo left the room, closing it as quietly as he can and thankful he always made sure his doors never squeaked. He put the Ring on and unsheathed Sting, tiptoeing to the foyer.

"Fire's still burning. He's home," one Orc hissed.

"Find him," another growled. "Find the Halfling."

Since when do Orcs speak anything but Orcish? When did they begin to study Westron? Bilbo inhaled and stepped closer to them.

"What if he's wearing it?" a third asks. "We'll never be able to see him if he is!"

Bilbo halted. They knew about his ring? How? This was bad. They'd kill him and Frodo if he couldn't kill them! And if they knew about his ring, then others must be after him as well.

Bilbo stepped back, thinking. Perhaps it'd be better if he didn't try to kill them. They'd probably find him eventually, invisible or not. Bilbo wracked his brain for another solution…

Bag End's back door…his father made one leading to the second, larger garden on top of the house. Bilbo returned to Frodo's room, sheathing Sting. He pulled the ring off his finger and ducked.

"Frodo, you still need to be quiet, but you can come out now."

He did.

"What's wrong? Why are you whispering?"

"Because we need to get out and we have to be very quiet doing so. Okay?"

Frodo nodded. "Are we going to go home now?"

Bilbo swallowed. "Yes. We are going to go home." He picked Frodo up and made for the door, which swung open. The two Orcs entered the room, smirking and swords in their hands.

"Found you, Runt."