Disclaimer: The Hobbit, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

Author's Note: Fill for a prompt on the hobbit-kink meme.

Ribbit-Hobbit

Still catching his breath after having the protective heavy weight of his oldest brother pressing him to the forest floor, as well as regaining his sight from the blinding bright blue wayward spell that had darted about the trees before exploding like a firework, Ori looks uneasily about, not taking part in the cries of outrage and worry. Instead he focuses on searching, the alarm of the hobbit's disappearance having been raised by Bofur.

"Watch your step!" he calls out more than once, spotting a little frog in danger of being trampled.

It is only after the tenth warning that the scribe realizes the frog is not trying to reach safer ground but is constantly hopping back and forth amongst the dwarves and wizard. When the frog lands by his feet, Ori swiftly scoops up the creature in his hands and looks at it curiously.

He is not expecting the violent shaking of the little thing, nor the almost frantic croak it issues, and especially not the large blue eyes staring up at him, filling with tears.

"Bilbo…?" Ori says quietly, though why, he has no idea.

"Ribbit."

"Bilbo," his voice grows stronger.

"Ribbit, ribbit!"

"It's Bilbo!"

Suddenly the rest of the company surrounds him, full of shock and disbelief, staring and gaping as the creature is passed around the group.

"What have you done?!" Thorin roars, turning on Gandalf. "You claimed you'd make a fire," he gestures toward the pile of soaked firewood, "and instead our 'burglar' is a frog! Much good he will do against the dragon," he says bitterly.

"There was a change in the wind, Thorin; otherwise, you would now have your warm fire and our hobbit still in one piece!"

"Ye're frightening him!" Bofur's snappish tone draws the attention of the king and wizard to the miner. He is frowning darkly at them. "Stop it!" He looks down at the frog cupped in his hands and pressed to his chest. The poor thing still is trembling, croaking in distress.

"Can this be undone?" Bombur breaks the long, tense silence.

"Hmm, well, now…"

Gandalf comes to Bofur (who takes a step back before growing still) and kneels down to be able to see the frog more easily. Cautiously, the dwarf opens his hands to fully show Bilbo; his narrowed eyes follow the wizard's every movement intently. Slowly, Gandalf gently pokes a finger at the creature, earning several loud ribbits and what could be interpreted as a glare.

Sighing, the wizard stands. "I fear there is no counter spell for this that I can cast."

"Can the enchantment be broken?" Fili asks hopefully.

"Ah! That I could not say," Gandalf shakes his head slowly.

"You mean to say this will wear off in time?" Dori demands with a scowl.

"Aye, I believe so."

"And how long will that take?" Oin grunts.

"If luck is on our side, he may be himself again tomorrow, or it could be a few weeks until he transforms back. It is hard to determine," Gandalf muses, sounding like he is talking about the weather.

"Worthless old windbag," Thorin mumbles under his breath before saying in a clearer voice, "Someone will have to look after him tonight."

"I will," Ori offers, ignoring Nori jabbing his side in disapproval.

The king nods and orders all to finish setting up camp. He hopes things will be as they have been on the morrow, for his nerves are running dangerously thin between the infuriating wizard and the useless hobbit-now-turned-frog.

Things are not as they have been when morning comes – nor when a whole month passes.

During the first few days – with the exception of Balin, Bofur, and the lads – the dwarves secretly rejoice at no longer having to slow the day's pace to accommodate the shorter legs of the hobbit, being free of his fussiness and homesickness, and not having to explain things to him. Though their now frog-hobbit still manages to be something of a nuisance.

They take turns looking after Bilbo. He is so tiny – more tiny than before – and so green that it makes it very easy for him to blend in with his surroundings if he is not in someone's hand; and it becomes common for there to be short-lived panicked searches for their frog until he is located usually via a helpful loud ribbit. Bilbo has a tendency to want to get exercise at the most inconvenient moments, leading to a chase to catch him and then scolding him. Feeding him is also a challenge. None of the dwarves are sure what diet Bilbo needs until he flicks out his long tongue to capture a cricket. And the need to continue to protect the hobbit takes the dwarves by surprise, now guarding him from sharp-eyed falcons and snakes and hungry beasts.

On the day Bilbo pees in Thorin's hand, the king roars he ought to have left the helpless creature behind the day he was bewitched, remaining very much a burden whether a hobbit or a frog, and seek out a new burglar.

Then Bofur is there, gently lifting the frog from where he has been partly dropped, partly thrown to the ground. The toymaker cups his hands around him protectively, peering down at Bilbo for any sign of him being hurt. Large frightened blue eyes gaze back at the dwarf. There is a quiet, sad croak.

The look Bofur gives Thorin his companions would identify as furious if it was anyone besides the cheery miner. He flushes, moustache bristles, braids quivers. Twice he opens and closes his mouth. On the third attempt he says in a quiet yet firm tone that he will take full responsibility of their burglar-frog from now on. When Thorin presses to know the reason for this, the dwarf narrows his gaze as he states the hobbit had pushed him out of the way of the wayward spell, and is thus in Bilbo's debt.

And he does: carrying Bilbo around in his breast pocket; scouring for snails and worms and other bugs for the creature's meals; giving him water from his canteen; guarding him from predators (and brooding dwarves); often trying to cheer up the sad hobbit with jokes and making up stories about him, Sir Baggins the Frog; and sharing about his memories of growing up, his dreams for the future.

It takes the rest of the company by surprise how gentle and protective Bofur becomes with Bilbo, as before he took great delight in pulling pranks on the burglar and frightening him. Now it is to the point where the miner does not let anyone handle the frog but himself unless absolutely necessary. Like when Gandalf examines their companion, the dwarf hovering like a mother hen; or he requires his kin or Ori to watch Bilbo for a bit – the scribe almost swears that the frog grows nearly cast down until the merry dwarf comes back, his tongue flickering out in greeting and letting out a happy ribbit when returned to Bofur's care.

By the time the company has travelled with their enchanted companion for a month, everyone is sulking and wishing for their hobbit to be back. They miss him.

Gloin sighs, "He listened to my stories about my family and home."

Bifur remembers, "He attempted to be able to communicate with me."

Ori muses, "He didn't look down on me for being so little."

Dwalin recollects, "He became so happy over the flowers and colorful birds we'd see during the day's trek."

Bombur: "He took an interest in my cooking."

Nori: "His enthusiasm with the mushrooms, as though he had discovered a room full of gold."

Dori: "He was curious about my knitting."

Kili: "He was so cute and innocent."

Balin: "He would walk with me, politely ask about dwarven customs."

Fili: "He put up with our jokes."

Oin: "He quickly learned what volume to use when speaking so I could hear him."

"Became used to seeing him, awkwardly attempting to fit in, day after day," even Thorin admits to himself.

Two more weeks pass. When Thorin calls a halt for the day and assigns tasks to set up camp, Bofur fishes Bilbo out of his pocket and raises the frog in his hand until they are at eye level. The hobbit's green skin is now a pale brown-green, eyes half open, movement sluggish and slow. The dwarf frowns, worry growing in the pit of his stomach. The creature is becoming worse, fast.

He only nods when, materializing at his side, Ori takes one look at the frog and promptly announces he is going to get Gandalf. Carefully, soothingly, he brushes a knuckle over Bilbo's back.

"What's the matter, Bilbo? What is it?" he asks.

"I fear he is fading."

The miner jumps at the sound of Gandalf's voice, unaware of his and Ori's swift approach. He turns and watches the wizard bend a studious gaze on Bilbo, touching him for a moment.

"It is as I suspected," he proclaims grimly, straightening to his full height.

Bofur and Ori's eyes widen in full-fledged panic.

"What is as you suspected?" Kili asks, returning with Fili from gathering firewood, drawing the rest of the dwarves' notice from their various tasks.

"We are losing Bilbo."

"What?!" Gloin gasps, coming closer.

"Do you mean to say Master Baggins is...dying?" Dwalin demands, his hands forming into fists at his sides.

"Yes, Master Dwalin," Gandalf says sadly as the dwarves gather round.

"You are sure of this?" Thorin's voice is low.

The wizard sighs. "Some magic – when it goes unbroken – can cause the one bewitched to fade and eventually die."

There are cries, questions, protests… From "He needs to go into the mountain!" (Nori) to "He is too young to die, and so far from his home!" (Balin).

"Please don't leave us. We – I – like ye. And I am sorry for my actions at the start of the journey. Please return, our hobbit," Bofur pleads in a quiet voice, staring at the frog – so still, lids now shut – before placing a whiskery kiss on the top of his head.

There is no flash, sound, or any warning from the moment Bofur holds an ill hobbit-frog to the next where a real hobbit is before him, bewildered and swaying on his furry feet, steadied by the dwarves' gloved hands on his shoulders. As exclamations and various callings fills the air, the hobbit's eyes widen, expression growing shocked, relieved, and happy. To those who closely look at him, his skin is a healthy tone, a deep blush covering his cheeks, eyes clear and sparkling. Despite the squeaks that escape him as he receives strong pats on the back, clasps of the shoulder, and three or four hugs (as well as an unexpected "Welcome back, Master Baggins," from Thorin), his expression remains bashful and pleased.

It is not until sleeping arrangements are being sorted as he clenches his bed roll like a seven-old-year with a teddy bear, shifting his weight and running a shaky hand through his curls, eyes darting nervously about the campsite that he feels at a loss. Uncertain of his footing with the group. If things are back to as they were before his misadventure. He gasps when his bedroll is taken from him without warning and a huge warm hand swallows his small one. Head jerking up, he gapes at Bofur who gently tugs him along toward where his family's bedrolls are.

"Ye're with us, laddie," he says, shy and firm and reassuring all at the same time.

Bilbo exhales loudly, thankful as he settles down, his smile lingering after he falls asleep between Bofur and Bifur. And the next day he discovers his hopes are more than granted when the toy maker keeps close, entertaining him with songs and jokes, eyes watchful and protective, and Bifur and Bombur offer genuine welcoming smiles when he is steered toward them that night. And it happens the following day, the day after, and the next…

THE END