Chapter Text
Prologue
Bilbo Baggins chased after the eagles that carried the sons of Durin to the healers. They had defeated Azog and Bolg, but their injuries were grave. He weaved in between the skirmishes that dotted the foothills of the Lonely Mountain, cloaked by the Ring's magic. As he ran, his senses were assaulted, not only by the suffocating smell of blood that had long since stained the ground gruesome shades of black, brown, and red, but also by the cries of agony from the living and the quiet groans of those who were passing into the shadow of death. Really, this was too much for a child of the kindly West. He needed to escape, needed to see his friends — no, his family. It struck him in that moment that the thirteen dwarves had long since come to hold an important place in his heart. They were his home now, Bilbo realized, and he knew he could never go back to being the same gentlehobbit he had been when he left the Shire those long months ago.
Bilbo's thoughts were cut short and he yelped in surprise. The right side of his face met the rocky terrain with a sickening crack as the body of an orc, slain by a dwarrow from the Iron Hills, collapsed onto his feeble body. The world turned a sickly shade of green as Bilbo tried to drag himself out from under the corpse, but with no luck. He was far too weak after the grueling battle and the months of malnutrition he'd experienced on the road. Not that he would have been able to push an orc twice his size off of him in his best condition. The last thing he remembered hearing before the darkness closed in were the ragged breaths of the orc dying on top of him.
Chapter 1 - I Know You Hate Me
Bilbo awoke with a start, eyes darting wildly to assess his surroundings. It took some time for them to adjust to the dusk, but he was hit with another wave of nauseous despair as he registered what was happening. Men, dwarrow, and elves alike were silently combing through the deceased, some with faces of stone, others with tears streaming freely down their faces, reflecting the dim light of the rising moon in silvery trails. He continued to observe, until the crushing weight was removed from atop his slight form and dragged to the pile of orc corpses to be burned. Bilbo quickly sat up, almost crying out as he felt his ribs pop. He felt the spark of pain travel throughout his body and almost lost consciousness again. Óin would not be happy with him, he mused as he attempted to get to his feet.
It was a slow, agonizing journey, but by the time the moon had peaked in the ink black sky, Bilbo had finally made it back to the Company. To safety. He slipped off the Ring, and stumbled over to Bofur, who had been pacing outside one of the many tents that had been pitched. The dwarrow cried out as Bilbo began to collapse, catching him before his body hit the ground. Bilbo weakly looked up at his friend, whose eyes had begun to fill with tears.
"Bilbo….We thought you had been lost." Bofur's voice was strained as he spoke, and the sound made Bilbo's heart ache.
"Oh please, did you really think you'd be rid of me so easily?" The hobbit offered a wobbly smile. "I am glad to see you, Bofur. Truly." Bilbo hesitated before asking his question, fearful of what the answer would be. "And the others? Have they all returned? Has…Thorin? And have Fíli and Kíli?"
Bofur assured Bilbo that the entire Company had survived by some miracle, although some were in better shape than others. His brother Bombur had lost his right leg to a warg, and Fíli had lost his left arm at the elbow, thanks to Azog. The other members of the Company had various injuries, including a multitude of stab wounds, broken appendages, bruised ribs, and concussions, all of which could be treated by Óin, as well as the elven healers who had volunteered their skills. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to be once again swallowed by the pain, Bofur's shout for a medic sounding distant as he fell limp in his arms. He could rest easy knowing the members of the Company were safe.
* * *
The deep, savory scent of Óin's herbs dragged Bilbo out of his slumber. A soft groan escaped his lips as he struggled to sit up in his cot, startling Óin out of his thoughts. He rushed to the hobbit's side, fussing over his wounds.
"You gave us quite the scare, Master Baggins," Óin rumbled as he brought a cup of fragrant broth to Bilbo's lips, gently coaxing his patient to take a sip. He prattled on as he continued his care, filling Bilbo in on the condition of the other members of the Company as he applied poultices and fresh bandages. He found the hobbit to be an exemplary patient, unlike some other members of their party. "Not two days ago, I had to sedate Dwalin to keep him in my care. He was insistent on leaving to check on our companions himself so he could report back to Thorin…" Óin glanced quickly at Bilbo, silently thanking Mahal that his patient was too drained to notice his slip-up. "The stubborn dwarf nearly got into a fist fight with me, so I had to resort to drastic measures." He chuckled to himself. "It wouldn't do for the most competent healer in the Mountain to be in need of healing himself, now would it?" There was no response from Bilbo. He had drifted off listening to Óin's chatter, which was the result the healer had hoped for. Sleep would heal what he could not with his limited resources.
* * *
Bilbo awoke to the sound of a struggle, and fear gripped him as he fought with the fog of sleep to open his eyes. He found Óin blocking the entrance to the tent, and a number of dwarrows trying to get around him. Relief flooded his body. Throat dry from sleep, he croaked, "Óin, please let them in. I would dearly love to see our friends." Of course, Óin could not argue with this. He had a soft spot for the hobbit, and surely letting a few rowdy dwarves in would not be the end of the world.
Bofur, Bifur, and Kíli rushed over to see their burglar, who had propped himself up to better see his visitors. Bifur was signing frantically, conveying how worried he had been about Bilbo, and how he had feared the worst when he, or his body, could not be located. The hobbit reached out a hand and patted his friend's arm comfortingly. He signed to assure the dwarrow that he was just fine, and promised not to scare him again. During their journey, Bilbo had taken it as a challenge to learn Iglishmêk to better communicate with Bifur, since learning Khuzdul was not permitted. His natural talent for picking up languages was a point of pride for Bilbo, and dwarven sign language, as it turned out, was no exception. He and Bifur quickly found a rhythm and were able to have full conversations by the time they reached Laketown.
The three dwarrow knelt at Bilbo's bedside for hours, updating him on everything that had been happening around the camp. Bofur and Bifur had crafted temporary crutches for Bombur to use until a more permanent prosthetic could be crafted. Ori and Fíli were both recovering well, and spent their hours together restoring books from Erebor's library. They were not yet permitted to leave their tents, but had begged for something to do. Kíli grinned wickedly at Bilbo, conspiratorially whispering, "Ori is very pleased to be restoring books, as it is his passion in life. My brother, however, could not give two figs about those books. I have my suspicions that he is forming an attachment to our friend." At this, Bilbo chuckles, and whispers back. "As soon as I am out of this dratted cot, we will have to investigate this great mystery. Maybe we can help move things along."
Through all this conversation, Bilbo noted that not a single mention of Thorin had been made. He had tried to interject and ask after him, but the subject was changed quickly and the hobbit decided not to press the matter. He would visit Thorin as soon as he was well.
* * *
It was several weeks before Bilbo had finally gained enough strength to emerge from his tent. He asked the nearest dwarrow of Thorin's whereabouts, and they pointed wordlessly to a tent not twenty-five feet from his own before hurrying off. Outside the tent, Balin stood watch in his brother's stead, who had volunteered his strength to clearing away debris leftover from Smaug's destruction.
Bilbo offered a small smile to Balin, who offered a tight-lipped one in return, one that did not quite reach his eyes. "Is something the matter, Balin?" Bilbo inquired, brows knit in concern. "I would like to see Thorin. We have much to talk through, I believe. I haven't seen or heard from him since the battle…"
At this, Balin looked to the ground, shoulders dropping in a sigh. "I am sorry, laddie. Thorin will not see you. He will not see anyone, for that matter, besides Óin and myself, and I rather suspect he would not see us if he did not have to."
"What do you mean, he won't see anyone?" Bilbo questioned, growing more desperate as he spoke. "Is he unwell? We have just won a battle, and his people need him! They need their king to lift their spirits. I understand if he won't see me, after everything that has occurred." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I am sorry, Balin. I never got the chance to apologize properly for taking the Arkenstone and—"
"You have nothing to apologize for, laddie. You did what none of us were brave enough to do, and you saved him from being consumed by the dragon sickness." Balin rested a calloused hand on his shoulder, its warmth seeping through the thin cotton tunic he had been given. "You are the reason he is even here today, Bilbo, and for that we will always be in your debt. I cannot convince him to see you, however, and for that I am sorry." The dwarrow offered him a sad smile, and disappeared back into the tent. As the tent flaps blew in the wind, Bilbo could see the disheveled form of the King Under the Mountain slumped on the edge of the cot, and grief constricted his throat. He had never seen Thorin look so broken. He resolved to visit again that night, and hopefully get through to the dwarrow.
* * *
Hours later, after the stars appeared in the sky, the hobbit quietly made his way to the king's tent, praying to Mahal, the Green Lady, and anyone else who would listen that he would make some headway. He listened outside briefly, and upon hearing nothing, he crept into the tent.
Thorin shot up, clearly startled by the uninvited visitor. The red-rimmed eyes observed him with little interest before dropping back to look at the ground. "What in Mahal's name are you doing in here?" the dwarrow gritted out through clenched teeth. The hobbit's shoulders sank at the sound, knowing that he had already lost.
"I had hoped we could talk, but…" Bilbo swallowed hard and reached a hand towards Thorin's arm, heart aching with despair as the King recoiled from his touch. "Thorin, what is going on? You have yet to leave your tent and I have heard nothing from you in weeks. If you are still angry with me, I completely understand," the hobbit stumbled over his words, nervously fidgeting with his outgrown hair, which he had learned to braid with Bofur's patient instruction during his weeks of being bedridden. "I have not yet had the chance to apologize for betraying you. And I am deeply sorry that things turned out the way they did, Thorin…"
"Which of the Company braided your hair?" Thorin interrupted, fixated on the movements of the hobbit's hands.
"Ah, Bofur taught me." Bilbo traced the braid with his finger once more and offered a tentative smiled to Thorin. "It suits me, does it not?" The dwarrow answered with silence, his face darkening.
"Get out."
"I…I'm sorry? Thorin…" Bilbo felt tears prick in his eyes, but he fought them back. The last thing he wanted to do in this moment was show how weak he truly was. Bilbo sat up straighter and looked the dwarf king in the eyes. "I don't understand, Thorin. After everything we have been through, after what you said at Ravenhill… I don't get it. Why are you treating me this way? Why are you pushing me away?!" He felt anger bubble in his stomach, and he knew if he didn't leave he would say something he would regret. "Thorin, you should at least see your nephews. They are so worried about you. Balin said you have not spoken to—"
"Leave me, Master Burglar."
Master Burglar? How long had it been since Thorin had called him that? Surely since before the Carrock. Bilbo knew that his expression reflected his pain, but he did not care anymore. "Thorin Oakenshield, can you not even call me by my own name any longer? After everything we've been through, all I am is 'Master Burglar'? I don't know why I even bothered to try and talk things out with you." He shot one more glare Thorin's way as he made his way to leave. He was jerked back as the dwarrow grabbed his arm, and whirled around to look him in the eyes.
"Did you just come here to shove my shortcomings down my throat?" Thorin had lost all semblance of composure and gripped both of the hobbit's shoulders tightly, faces inches apart.
Bilbo knew that he should bite back his retort, but the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could do anything about it. "Is that what it feels like? Maybe that's because you're pouting like a bloody pebble instead of facing your problems like a grown dwarf."
"Your moral superiority sickens me. I do not want to hear another word—"
Bilbo interrupted him, intent on apologizing. "Thorin, I'm—"
"Enough. You are not welcome here any longer."
Bilbo reeled at this. He could not believe what he was hearing. This was not the same dwarf who had spoken so affectionately at death's doorstep, who had wished to part as friends. His ears roared from the rushing blood, and his vision spotted. He shook off Thorin's hands and stumbled out of the tent, rounding the corner and dropping to clutch his knees as silent sobs racked his body.
* * *
After he'd regained a semblance of composure, Bilbo made his way back to his own tent, where he found Bofur waiting for him. Noticing his friend's demeanor, Bofur grabbed Bilbo's arm and dragged him to the tent he shared with his brothers.
"Bilbo… Please tell us what happened to make you this upset," Bofur pleaded, clutching the hobbit's hand in his. Bombur offered Bilbo a handkerchief, and the three waited as their friend wipes his tear-streaked face. Bilbo inhaled shakily and said simply, "I have overstayed my welcome. I need to find Gandalf and start the journey home. As soon as possible."
At this, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur all let out cries of denial. "You could never overstay your welcome," Bofur exclaimed. "You are one of the Company. You're family!" The other two nodded in agreement, and Bifur signed that he could not imagine life in Erebor without Bilbo, and that they likely would not have succeeded in reclaiming their home without him. Tears filled the hobbit's eyes and he shook his head. "You three are the siblings I never had, and I wish things were different." He sniffled and reached for each of them, pulling the three dwarves into a hug. "You have changed my life for the better, my friends. You will always be welcome at Bag End, even if I will not return here. This will not be goodbye." Bilbo did not implicate Thorin, though he was sure his companions suspected their king had something to do with his sudden departure.
Bifur pulled a small wooden box from his pocket, signing that they had been waiting for the right time to give Bilbo the contents. Upon opening it, the hobbit found a bead from each member of the Ur family. Bombur's was a polished mahogany bead inlaid with tiny peridots. Bofur's was pure silver, with floral motifs carved into its surface. Bifur's was silver as well, but featured a prominent cats eye stone. "Oh, these are so beautiful. I will treasure them always." He looked back up from the gift, eyes shining in the dim candlelight. "I do not know how to thank you for your kindness. I felt truly at home with the three of you."
Bofur cleared his throat, which was thick with emotion. "Bilbo… we were hoping to ask you… Would you become a member of our family?"
"In our culture, found family is just as important as blood relatives," Bombur continued, reaching for Bilbo's hand. "We had intended to ask you to become our brother under… more ideal circumstances, but we cannot let you leave without extending the offer."
Bifur signed that the three of them were already brothers due to having been raised together after his own mother's passing. They had all felt that same connection with Bilbo, and knew that Mahal had intended for him to be part of their family as well, despite not being a dwarrow.
Overcome by his emotions and the weight of their regard for him, Bilbo could not find the words to speak. He knelt with his newfound family and they embraced and cried for a long while. Each brother took a bead and braided it into Bilbo's hair, taking the time to walk their hobbit brother through the steps, so he could braid his hair when they weren't around. He embraced each of his brothers once more before retiring to his own tent.
* * *
The very next morning, Bilbo had informed Gandalf of his decision and they had decided to set off without delay. Gandalf, it seemed, had already predicted that the hobbit would be returning home and asked the Beorn for his hospitality in advance. They had no time to lose if they were to make it to the skinchanger's home before the first real snow of the season.
Bilbo bid farewell to each of the Company, except for Thorin. The dwarves noticed his absence, and Bilbo could see that Dwalin's temper was flaring. He quickly assured them that it was his time to go, and that he missed his garden and his books. The last thing Bilbo wanted was for his departure to shove a wedge between Thorin and the rest of the Company. Even if the stubborn dwarf wanted nothing to do with him, Bilbo refused to play a part in destroying his support system. After all, he had a kingdom to run, and he could not do that without the support of his friends and family.
Each dwarf presented Bilbo with a small gift for the journey home and pressed their forehead against the hobbit's own. This was a typical dwarvish gesture of affection, as Bilbo had come to learn, though this act was rather intimate in hobbit culture. He could just imagine the Sackville-Bagginses gasping in horror at the public display of affection, and it almost brought a smile to his lips.
He waved goodbye to his friends, who watched and waved with tear-filled eyes until their dear burglar was too small to see in the horizon.