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Chapter Text

Hobbits, as a rule, liked all the little birds that lived in and near their gardens. They were well-liked company for first and second breakfast, as well as every other meal that was decided to be taken outside. Some Hobbits even left a few bread crumbs or grains out for them to eat.

Yet – on this particular morning - Frodo Baggins couldn't help but feel rather cross with them. Today their little voices became tiny arrows that went right into his brain. Groaning he had opened his eyes and tried to sit up, only to find that his body couldn't follow his mind and he had to sink back into his pillows. Fighting black spots in his vision he resolved himself to lie quietly until his condition got better.

After he had managed not to pass out Frodo let his thoughts wander. With his eyes still closed he could hear all the little sounds around him. And the birds. He really wasn't the type for vengeful thoughts, but currently he couldn't help but wish for them to just be quiet. So when after a few more minutes the twittering became more distant Frodo managed to focus a little better. There was a tremble in his muscles and the nagging feeling of hunger in his stomach, his lips felt chapped and the phantom sensation in his lost finger wasn't even a bad feeling. If he lay still enough he could feel the roots of his hairs ache. Frodo wondered, if the elves would notice his absence at breakfast and would come to look for him.

Valinor itself was a nice place, he mused. The scenery was amazing and the elves of Tirion had even built a small cottage and garden for Bilbo and him. It was no hobbit-hole and they hadn't spend the winter there, but Frodo appreciated the effort. Still he couldn't help but wonder if they would have the presence of mind to call for Elrond, when they would find him sick in his bed. Elves born and bred on Valinor wouldn't know what to do with a hobbit who had taken ill, Frodo reckoned. He just hoped Bilbo wouldn't catch whatever made him sick.

Frodo continued to breathe for a time, nearly lulled to sleep again by the familiar smell of pipe weed and the nearly painless sensation of lying perfectly still. His muddled mind relished in the feeling of the homely patchwork quilt against his hands, blending out the fact that it smelled like sickness. At least – that was – until a jolt of that falling sensation one sometimes gets when falling asleep snapped him awake.

The elves used no pipe weed and the sheets he had in Elrond's house and in Tirion were supposed to be silken.

The realization forced his trembling body into a upright position and his eyes sprung open. Pain exploded in his head, as his muscles protested against the sudden movement. Riding out the pain Frodo had to slump foreword a little, now staring at his hands. Small they were, too small and frail, like he had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. But that was not what shook him the most. There were ten fingers on his hands where there should only have been nine. He wiggled them and all ten moved. Then he tied pushing down on the quilt with this missing finger and felt the pressure on this legs.

Ten real fingers. His breath caught in this throat and blood was rushing in his ears. Ten fingers. He was desperately trying to breathe. Ten fingers. A oddly detached part of Frodo realized he was having a panic attack, but the rest of him decided that it had enough. Ten fingers. His panic-stricken mind shut down.

-----

When Frodo came to again he felt as weak as a newborn and couldn't seem to manage opening his eyes. After giving that up the next thing he realized was that there were other people in his room. He could hear at least two different voices. And one of them was prodding his side.

“-s severely underweight. You really need to make him drink at least some broth every day, and if he can manage that some milk. If he can, you have to try and make him eat food he can easily digest, if he looses another kilo or two he is in serious danger of loosing his life. By Yavanna, even now he is in danger of that, Adamanta.” said the male voice.

“He has been refusing to eat more often than not since his parents...but we thought he would snap out of it eventually... .” said the second person.

“Terrible business that fell winter was, yes, but he cannot afford to loose any more weight.” said the male voice again. “You need to remember that.”

“Yes, I will. I shall not loose my grandson, too. I- .”

There was something about these voices, Frodo decided. He felt like he was forgetting something, but he couldn't remember what it was. It most definitely wasn't the hallucinations he had had before, no, those he could remember. And it wasn't the fact that they were speaking Common either. That, he had realized after the first few words spoken. So lost in this thoughts Frodo only noticed that the hands that had prodded and poked his body had vanished a few minutes later. Not knowing if they had left the room Frodo tried to call out to them, but only managed a weak groan. Within a few seconds he felt warm hands on his shoulders.

“Bilbo? Bilbo? You have given us such a scare. Please, you'll be alright, I promise.” the voice called Adamanta pleaded.

“Bilbo?” Frodo thought confused “Why would they ever think that I am Bilbo?” Continuing the thought for a few seconds he felt confused, that was until he decided that he would rather just ask. Not only for good measure he groaned once more and after a few seconds they helped him into a sitting position and gave him some water.

“Now “,Frodo decided “I might as well try and force my eyes open if I ever want this matter resolved.” Under huge effort he managed to crack his eyes open a little and looked bleary-eyed up to two Hobbits standing over his bed. “So that earlier wasn't a hallucination at all – maybe – or I'm having the strangest dream I've ever had. They think that I am Bilbo. And if I remember right Adamanta and Gerontius were Bilbo's grandparents. They died about when Bilbo came of age.”

Bilbo's grandmother and the other Hobbit looked at him expectantly.

“If it is a dream or the like, I need to wake up right now.”

“Wha-...what...?” he tried to ask about why the supposed healer feared for his- Bilbo's life, but failed miserably due to his dry throat.

---------

Years had passed since he'd first woken up to find himself in the weak and malnourished body of a very young Bilbo. It had taken weeks to just be able to move about his bedroom and Frodo had had a lot of time to think about his situation. During the very first days, he had thought everything to be a dream and had been waiting to wake up in Elrond's house in Tirion. Maybe Irmo was feeling especially mischievous, he'd thought. But after weeks had gone by and Frodo had without fail woken up every morning to the same hobbit-hole, looking at the same ceiling, he had resigned himself to the fact that he would probably be staying. And Adamanta hadn't been wrong. Frodo had, as soon as he'd been able to, wobbled over to the mirror in his room and inspected his face. And what had looked back at him from the mirror had most definitely been Bilbo's face. He had never found an explanation.

Months, years, decades had gone by. At first Frodo had only convinced himself to behave and speak like the real Bilbo. It couldn't have been helped, everyone would have asked questions. And Frodo, having never found the answers himself, had at one point just accepted his situation as a fact. After a year of answering to Bilbo's name, he'd become quite good at impersonating him. After a few more years, he'd sometimes found himself thinking that it would be easier to just try and actually be Bilbo. And after even more years, he'd decided to do just that. Be Bilbo. To honor the memory of his Bilbo. At least that was what he told himself every so often. Yet, if he was truthful he did it in some vague hope of having an uneventful life with no shiny gold rings and no task to decide the fate of all free folk in Middle Earth. He also did it, so that on most days he could to ignore his guilty conscience that was a certain gold ring and his utter failure to destroy it. If it hadn't been for Gollum, the ring would not have been destroyed. Anyway, he lived up to the image of a respectable Bilbo, who – like he convinced himself – never had any adventures or did anything unexpected. That was what he wanted to believe. And like that – again, he promised the mental image of an very much older Bilbo (who to be truthful didn't represent the real Bilbo at all, but his own terror stricken mind) – he would keep it. What he didn't realize though, was that he had subconsciously added the condition of only keeping it like that until – if – a certain Grey Wizard came to knock on the round, green door of Bag-End. Because everything else would not have been right.

And so came the year 1340th of the Shire Reconing.

Around eight in the morning Frodo was awoken – much like the first time – by the singing and twittering of the little birds outside of his window. Yet in contrast to that first time, he noticed, that he felt rather good. With the warmth of his blankets still in his body, but his mind free from any leftover sleepiness he moved out of his bed and opened his window wide to air out the room. After making his bed he decided to put a kettle on and then he went into one of his closets to get dressed. The day promised to be a lovely one and he decided to select only a shirt and a vest, no jacket. Having decided on gray trousers he reached for a red vest, but then, on a hunch reached for a yellow vest with a flower pattern and a blue shawl instead.

By the time he was dressed the kettle whistled and he set about making his first breakfast and preparing the food for his second breakfast. He moved about animatedly kneading dough here and frying sausages and bacon there, all the while humming under his breath. Now and then he reached for his tea and took a sip. After all the needed preparation was done Frodo took one of the books he was currently reading to the breakfast table and enjoyed his first breakfast, all the while turning the pages and marveling at the content. He had recently begun to read an old book that – he supposed – Belladonna Baggins had brought back from one of her stays in Rivendell. He had found it behind a cabinet whilst cleaning up. It was written in Sindarin with passages of Quenya mixed into it and was most definitely about the Union of Maedhros and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Very interesting, even if it was rather upsetting at times. He supposed as a respectable gentlehobbit he shouldn't be reading something like this, but he had sat down and read the first page, when he had first found it. And after that he was hopelessly lost and couldn't help himself. As long as no-one saw it, he supposed, he was still entirely respectable. Everyone had their guilty pleasures.

So Frodo sat and read – of course only after cleaning up and setting the table for second breakfast – until he realized it was nearly 10 o'clock. He then decided to have second breakfast and folded the upper part of the page he was reading downwards, as to set the book aside. If he would have been truthful with himself he would have remembered that the real Bilbo used to be appalled by the idea of wrinkling book pages and had a long time ago (or many years into the future) scolded Frodo heavily for such a manner. But as it was Frodo was in denial and thus did not realize.

He went on and had his second breakfast.

After cleaning up Frodo found himself in the mood for a pipe and some Longbottom Leaf. And so he took his pipe and sat on the bench in front of Bag-End.

Some time later Frodo was entertaining himself with blowing smoke rings in to the air, finding this day to be an exceptionally nice one. His eyes were closed and he was currently relishing in the feeling of hot smoke in his lungs when a shadow fell upon his face.

Opening his eyes he saw a big person with a tall gray hat standing in front of him.

On reflex – he had worked thirty years for manners like this, thank you very much – Frodo said “Good Morning!” and for a split second he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But then he realized just who was standing in front of him and what it implied.

Frodo could feel thirty years of illusions, wistful thinking and self-deception threatening to crumble away under the look gave Gandalf him, with sharp eyes and his long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his hat. Dratted Wizard.
“What do you mean?” Gandalf then said. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”
After Gandalf's little monolog Frodo was feeling so shell-shocked that he answered on autopilot – an uniquely Frodo-mannered autopilot.

Whereas Bilbo had answered something along the lines of “All of them at once. And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors … .”, Frodo raised an eyebrow and answered “ Generally – in the Shire that is to say at least – the expression 'Good Morning.' is used to indicate the speaker's notice of the listener's presence and the acknowledgment of just that, as an act of politeness. Furthermore – and this is just what I would personally presume – it might indicate that the speaker actually wishes the listener a good morning, as to either wish something good on the people they know or to show an unknown person that they have no inclination whatsoever to wish on them any misfortune. Yet, I think you made some good points, so I would say I mean it in all of them at once, if you so will. A good morning to you, can I help you?”

The very slight smile that had taken hold of all the little wrinkles around Gandalf's eyes during Frodo's answer, lost hold of his face and had to make place for a frown that appeared upon Frodo's question.

“That remains to be seen.”

Frodo's mind supplied the rest of the sentence and a short description Bilbo had always used to describe this meeting to Frodo when he had been just a tween. “'I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone .' – that old meddler had told me, pulling up these eyebrows and looking at me like he was urging a child – a child! Never mind that I at the time had already been in my fifties and middle aged, so to say.”

“I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.” Gandalf said with the very same expression Bilbo had described.

Frodo couldn't quite remember just what Bilbo had exactly answered, but he supposed as long as he behaved similar enough Gandalf would be drawing that sign on Bag-Ends door anyway. Yet at the same time he couldn't quite understand, why he would want that. Frodo contemplated answering differently for a few seconds. “But that just wouldn't do, would it?”

“In these parts?” Frodo asked mildly instead. “I would imagine so. We hobbits don't like things that make us late for dinner. I myself much prefer to read about them in a book, if at all. You might want to try over The Hill or across The Water. We don't want any adventures here.”

Then Frodo stood up and took out his morning letters and intently tried to suppress the urge to touch his shoulder. “Good morning!” Frodo said again, because this he remembered. “We don't want any adventures here, thank you.” he repeated and turned to go.

“What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!" Gandalf said and stood a little straighter. “Now you mean that you want to get rid of me.”

Frodo waited for a few seconds and realized he was clutching his shoulder. He forced himself to relax his grip and let go. Turning around he said “I beg your pardon? Do I know you?”

“Yes, Mr. Bilbo Baggins you know me indeed. And you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it.”

“Don't I, now?”

“I am Gandalf and Gandalf means me! To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I was selling buttons at the door!” Gandalf said and Frodo could see that the wizard was feeling a little miffed.

Frodo supposed he should answer, as Bilbo had, something about fireworks and The Old Took, but he couldn't at the moment, couldn't for the life of him find back to this kind of behavior. Instead he raised his chin a little and said “ The Gray Wizard, yes? The very same one that would turn up out of the blue and then vanish again whenever one wanted answers from him? I remember your fireworks from when I was young.” That was technically a lie, as it had been Bilbo, who had seen these. In this time. Frodo himself hadn't been so very young, when he had last seen them. “I beg your pardon, but I didn't know you were still in business.”

“Where else should I be?” Gandalf answered, frowning slightly. “All the same I am pleased to find you remember something about me, and I will give what you asked me for.”

“I beg your pardon, I haven't asked you for anything. And 'no', my begging for pardon doesn't actually mean I am begging you for your pardon, it means I am trying to be polite.” “And I might be failing.” Frodo thought to himself.

“Anyhow. I give it to you. In fact I will go so far as to send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you – and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it.”

“Not very likely, but necessary all the same.” Frodo thought. He remembered how Bilbo had retreated into himself sometimes, if something had reminded him too much of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews.

It made his head hurt and his knees weak, but Frodo, regardless of having lived Bilbo's life for the last thirty years had – in fact – memories of an older Bilbo, whom he had most definitely not been. And to this Bilbo at least he owed going on this adventure. Not for anyone else, not even for all of Middle Earth. Only for his Bilbo, who sometimes had seemed so sad. And maybe, maybe he would manage to save one of them with the knowledge he had.

He knew he would be sick later.

He had more or less unconsciously refused to acknowledge his history for thirty years, which made him sure that he would not be able it do so now. Not without consequences.

Instead of dwelling on that, Frodo liked to entertain the idea that Bilbo would have felt a little better if he knew that by some chance one of the Sons of Durin would have lived. Even if it was not in the events he had seen.

“Thank you! I don't want any adventures! Not today, not ever! But please come to tea or dinner– any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow! Good morning!” With these hasty words Frodo sprinted up to his Hobbit-hole and shut the door.

He just barely managed not to puke on one of the rugs until he reached the bathroom. In his haste to get there, he didn't quite hear the scraping of Gandalf's staff against the freshly painted door, but it was there all the same. Arriving in the bathroom just in time, he spend an ample amount of just that violently expelling what he had eaten for breakfast and hugging his toilet. Naturally, he spend the rest of the day feeling horrible, sprinting into the bathroom at random intervals, and throwing up bitter bile.

The only ever half digested trauma of being subjected to the ring's power, the self-loathing over having succumbed to it's temptation, and the thought of facing it ever again did not leave Frodo in a good condition. Not at all. When he couldn't take the mental pressure anymore Frodo dragged himself – trembling like a leaf – into his bedroom and passed out on his covers.

------------

When Frodo woke up again on the morning of the following day, said morning was very nearly over. And contrary to what Frodo had expected, he didn't feel bad anymore.

“You did not really expect the world to end and the stars to blow out, did you? Just because you had a bad day, Frodo Baggins? Really?” he scolded himself mentally. Maybe he was a little weary and a little tiered, but not to the extend that he couldn't go about his day's work.

And work he had. Preparing for a long journey, making sure that Bag-End was taken care of and inconspicuously cooking for thirteen dwarves and a wizard, without making it seem like he had been expecting them, whilst still making it seem like he had expected someone. It would be no easy feat. Frodo hoped Gandalf wouldn't be too suspicious. He didn't care to imagine what would happen, if he had to tell his story to Gandalf.

“Surely he would think me demented.” Frodo thought wryly. “And did I mention the cooking? I just love the cooking.”

Frodo was, for all it was worth, not a bad cook. Actually, one could call him a rather good cook, having won the 'Best Pies of West Farthing' contest several times in a row, but he'd rather just sit down and finish his book.

By now Frodo was slowly moving about. He dressed and afterwards found himself some old scones to eat, after going through his pantry. He ate them whilst standing in front of his stove and waiting for his teakettle to sing. Absentmindedly he wrote a shopping list with his other hand.

With tea things always seemed to be a little easier, this he had learned from Bilbo and he could only agree with it. So, after his first sip he began to gain momentum. The little pains in his body (and mind) seemed to become easier to bear and the last remnants of his breakdown vanished from his mind.

After his breakfast he sat down and wrote something akin to a will. Frodo wanted to make sure that Bilbo's beloved Bag-End wouldn't go to the Sackville-Bagginses, even if he himself had stopped disliking them a long time ago. It just wasn't worth it and Lobelia had even proven herself to be a good person in the end. Instead he made sure to leave her all of what was left of this silver cutlery. Not only the spoons. Furthermore he stipulated that Bag-End would go to the Gamgee's if there would ever be a notice of his death, or if he would be absent for more than five years. Maybe Sam's life could be a little easier that way. Not that their life was hard, but they certainly were not as well off as they could have been. Concerning the land and the rent that was to be payed by the hobbits living on it, he asked his cousin the Thain to see to that.

Frodo made four copies and sealed them. Placing original on the mantelpiece in his sitting room, he took the copies and his shopping list and put them in a pocket. Then he left his hobbit-hole and made his way down the Hill.

When he came upon Number Three, Bagshot Row he saw young Hamfast Gamgee standing in the doorway, sweeping. Allowing himself a little fond smile he called out to the young hobbit. “Morning Hamfast!”

“Mister Bilbo. 'Wish you a very good morning, 'hope you are well. Can I help you, sir?”, the young hobbit answered and stopped his sweeping to come up to Frodo.

Smiling down at him Frodo reached for the sealed envelopes and answered ” Only if you are not to busy, young Master Gamgee.” He always took care to show his respect for the Gamgee family. And like always it painted a wide grin on the boy's face.

“No, Mister Bilbo. What am I to do?” Hamfast inquired, standing to attention.

“I have an envelope and a note for your parents, I'd like you to give to them. Have your mother read it. And after that I'd like you to run to the post office and send these two envelopes and this note to the Mayor down in Michel Delving. ” Frodo handed him two of the sealed envelopes and another note. “And these two, “ he gave Hamfast the least sealed envelope and a letter, as well as more than enough money to send them “you send to the Thain. If there is any money left after that, I'd have you go to the market and buy your mother something nice for her pantry.” Frodo instructed the young hobbit.

“Thank you Mister Bilbo! I'll go at once!” the boy cried.

Frodo nodded at him. “Very good. Thank you, Hamfast. Have a good day.”

Then Frodo left to go to the market. Behind him he heard Hamfast shout his goodbyes and call out to his mother.

He went to the market. And then he cooked and packed. And before he knew it it had become dark and all that was left to do was to sit down and have something to eat, which was a pity, because he had hoped to read at least one more chapter in his book.

--------

Frodo had just sat down and was spooning up some stew, after having deposited the rest of the food in the biggest pantry when the doorbell rung, making him start and nearly spill his stew. A shiver run down his spine, as he got up to open the door. This was happening. The quest. Well, not 'The Quest', but another quest. There would be a dwarf outside his door. Frodo's hands trembled a little, as he reached for the doorknob.

Then the door swung open and revealed the biggest dwarf Frodo had ever seen.

“He is taller than Gimli by at least a head.” Frodo involuntarily thought and squared his shoulders. “Bilbo Baggins at your service, Master Dwarf.”

It seemed to Frodo as if the Dwarf stopped for a second, slightly surprised, and only then said “Dwalin son of Fundin, at yours.”

With a little nod Frodo stepped aside and let the dwarf come in. Dwalin, being a rather tall dwarf, was taller (and about thrice as wide) than even Merry and Pippin had been after their adventures with the ents. To come through the door, he had to bow his head a little. It made Frodo smile involuntarily. But his smile vanished and was replaced by a raised eyebrow, when Dwalin stopped surveying the room and dumped his coat and his weapons in Frodo's arms. Then the big dwarf made to go deeper into the hobbit-hole.

“Leave your boots at the entrance, Master Dwalin.” Frodo stopped him, frowning slightly.

This made Dwalin halt and turn to look at Frodo rather sharply and not to say disbelievingly.

“What?”

Having mud on his carpets, getting between his toes and into his bed, just wouldn't do. Not today and not ever. Even Frodo, and Frodo just couldn't exactly be called a normal hobbit, had little instances when his hobbit-sense of “all that was proper” – as Pippin had called it – would take over. Including when there was mud in his hobbit-hole. He had seen enough of that for a lifetime or several, in fact. He didn't need it in his hobbit-hole, too.

So Frodo, about two heads and some smaller than Dwalin and quite slight (he had never counted as well fed after the wastes of Gorgoroth), lifted his chin even higher and looked upon the dwarf in question.

“I said, Master Dwarf, to take off your boots and leave them by the entrance. I'd prefer to keep the street out of my hobbit-hole, if you would be so kind.” repeated Frodo only somewhat mildly and moved to place Dwalin's coat on a rack and his weapons by Belladonna's glory-box. Then he turned to see Dwalin frown at him, which made Frodo put his hands on his hips and look the dwarf dead in the eye.

“Preferably before you track mud all over my carpets, Master Dwalin.”

Frodo supposed that any person (and he did not only mean hobbits) would feel quite intimidated by the dwarf, especially seeing as Dwalin's frown had turned into a glare at his last words, but Frodo could remember a number of little stories, Bilbo had told him, that made the warrior seem ... not quite so fearsome. Among them a nice anecdote about Dwalin and cookies. So instead of being intimidated Frodo just raised his left eyebrow again and walked into the kitchen. Inside his kitchen he took out another bowl and filling it with stew, and placed it across from his own, cooling one. A short while later, after he had placed a spoon and a tankard full of dark beer by the bowl, he heard Dwalin come up behind him.

Turning around, he looked the dwarf over and saw his wool socked feet.

“Thank you. Please have a seat.” Frodo motioned to the table. Then he lifted a plate of buns off the counter, took one for himself and placed the rest by Dwalin's right elbow. They ate in silence, because unfortunately, when Frodo tried to start a conversation all he received was a grunt. And he tried twice. It was rather awkward.

Frodo resigned himself to eat in silence instead.

When Dwalin had emptied his bowl Frodo got up to refill it, only to be stopped by the doorbell.

“Saved by the doorbell.” he thought wryly and moved to open the door. “I recon this is going to be a long night.” He was feeling awkward still, but at the same time he was … excited, excited to meet all the people Bilbo had spoken so fondly of. Opening the door Frodo came face to face with a white haired dwarf of a smaller size.

Said dwarf smiled at him and opening his arms wide, proceeded to give a bow. “Balin at your service.“

Frodo instantly felt as if someone had emptied a bucket of ice over his head. In his mind he was seeing Gimli kneeling in front of a tomb, mourning his kins-dwarf. A very white tomb, deep within the bowels of the Misty Mountains. Frodo remembered feeling sad on Bilbo's and Gimli's behalf.

At the moment though, Balin ,once – to be? – the Lord of Moria, was standing at his door step and looking him expectantly in the face.

“Good … evening … .“ Frodo croaked, trying to get a grip on himself.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Balin answered, looking at the sky one last time before moving into his hall. "Though I think it might rain later.“ Then he grasped Frodo's hands and patted them. “Am I late?“

The touch caused Frodo to let go of his memories. “No. No. You are quite early, I think? But I wouldn't quite know. I wasn't informed, you see.“ He stepped back and then closed the door.

“Not informed laddie?“ the dwarf inquired and looked at him with sharp eyes.

Frodo nodded. “Yes. Incidentally I found a rune on my freshly painted door, after I had told one gray wizard that I didn't want any adventures here. But it seems that the old meddler went right ahead and made my home your meeting point. How many of you will I be expecting?“

Whilst this wasn't exactly a lie, it also wasn't quite the truth. Frodo knew exactly what was happening and who would be coming, but he didn't intend to let himself be bullied around by the old wizard. Gandalf was one of his oldest and dearest friends, but Frodo hadn't defied a dark lord only to let himself be bullied by a wizard, not even if he only meant good. Hence Frodo had decided to make Gandalf's life a little harder. And judging by all he had heard about Balin, the dwarf wasn't likely to let something like this slide.

“Thirteen, laddie. And the wizard.” Balin answered with a small frown.

Frodo nodded. “It will be a little cramped, but I dare say that we should be just fine.” He replied and watched Balin walking over to the rack to hang his coat up. “If you could leave your boots at the door?”

It spoke for the dwarf's manners that Balin only looked at him a little strange for a second before he removed them.

“Thank you, Master Balin. Through here.” Frodo moved into his sitting room and was met with the sight of Dwalin, his hand in one of his cookie jars. Dwarfish hands and hobbit cookie jars apparently didn't mix well, because Frodo could see Dwalin failing spectacularly in getting a cookie out of it. At least Frodo thought he was. Despite having turned the jar upside down. It was rather endearing. Frodo made a mental note.

Beside him a wicked smile formed on Balin's face and the old dwarf moved to greet his younger brother. “Oh! Evening brother!”

This in return caused the grim warrior to smile and hum. “By my beard, you're shorter and wider than last we met.” Frodo watched Dwalin place the cookie jar on one of his armchairs and move to greet the other dwarf.

“Wider not shorter, sharp enough for both of us.” said Balin with a wink and laughed.

Frodo decided that he would probably enjoy the dwarves' company. Even if they were putting on a farce – at least Frodo assumed that was what they were doing. Judging from what he had heard about the company, all of them came from the Ered Luin. And that was only a few weeks ride away from the Shire. It couldn't have been longer than about three weeks that they had seen each other, and most definitely not long enough for Balin to change to such an extend that his brother would notice a change such as he'd just talked about.

Then Dwalin and Balin smashed their heads together with a painful sound.

Which prompted Frodo to make a pained noise. It was cut short, however, as the dwarves' attention focused on him.

“Aaah.”

“Very eloquent Frodo Baggins.”  Frodo thought and tried again.

“If you would follow me? I am sorry to ask, but seeing as I didn't know about this meeting beforehand, would you help me set up a suitable table?”

Frodo could see Mister Dwalin looking at him sharply for a second.

“Yes, laddie, that we'll do. What do you need?” Balin let go of his brother and turned to face Frodo.

“I'd need you to help me with the chairs and the table- no Master Dwalin, that chair is not for sitting on.” Dwalin, apparently a pragmatic dwarf more than anything else, was now holding Uncle Bilbo's grandfather's chair, which was more of a family heirloom than a chair and Bilbo would have his hide, if anything were to happen to it, thank you very much.“ If you could - yes? Thank you.” Dwalin sat the chair back down again.

Frodo then led the two dwarves through his hobbit-hole.

“You'll find chairs down the hall, please help me position the table in the middle of the bigger dining room? I'll set the table.” He instructed the dwarves and watched them get to work.

Then Frodo went into his kitchen to get the tableware and the doorbell rung again. The cutlery would have to wait, it seemed. 

“Who ever it will be this time Frodo Baggins, it would be good to keep your wits about you.”  He sarcastically thought as he opened the door.

This time, it was two dwarves at once. The blond one looked at him with what Frodo supposed was to be a benevolent look. Only it seemed to be someone else's and it made him look like he was squinting at he hobbit. The dark haired one though, didn't seem to have grasped the concept at all and was outright glaring at Frodo.

“The youngest ones yet.”  Frodo mused and waited for them to introduce themselves.

“Fili.” Said the blond dwarf. 

“And Kili.” Said the darker dwarf.

“At your service.” They finished together and bowed at the same time.

Then their faces lit up with two slightly – very – cheeky smiles that made them look very young. “You must be Mister Boggins.” Said the younger nephew of Thorin Oakenshield.

They reminded Frodo very strongly of Merry and Pippin and he decided that he could have some fun of his own. “Nope!” Frodo replied a little gleeful. “You came to the wrong house.” He added and made to close the door.

“What?”

The darker one, Kili, pushed the door, complete with hobbit, open again. “Has it been canceled?”

“No one told us.” Fili added and frowned.

Frodo regained his footing and shook his head. “Nothing has been canceled. It's onl-. ” He tried saying, only to be cut short by Kili.

“Well that's a relieve.” The young dwarf tried coming in, but as Frodo was not done, he refused to move out of the way.

“It is only that there is no-one named Boggins here.” Frodo began again and looked at them with interest. “Or in the whole Shire for that matter. If you're looking for a Baggins though – that would me. Probably. Seeing as there are no other Bagginses in Hobbiton.” Frodo flashed them a slightly sharp smile.

He could see them frown and then the realization that his brother had butchered their would-be host's name, spread over Fili's face. “Yes, yes we are. We're sorry. Mister. Baggins.” Fili replied and forced his brother to bow slightly. Now Kili seemed to realize his mistake, too.

“Very well.” Frodo acknowledged and stepped back. “Bilbo Baggins at yours.” Frodo inclined his head a little as they came in.

Kili passed him by and Frodo came face to face with Fili.

“You can give me your coat, Mister Fili.” Frodo moved a little in Fili's direction, before remembering something and stopping dead in his tracks. “I wouldn't do that, Mister Kili.” Frodo interrupted himself in a sharp, but controlled voice. Without having the need to turn, he knew that behind him Kili had frozen, his right foot in mid-air, about to scrape his boots on Belladonna's glory box. Bilbo had complained about that too often for Frodo to forget, really. For the effect Frodo mentally counted to five and then turned to look at the younger brother.

“That is my mother's glory box and I would be very cross, if you were to damage it.” Stated Frodo in a calm manner that he knew, made people feel slightly uncomfortable. “You will be leaving your boots at the door anyway. Place them beside Mister Dwalin's and Mister Balin's. ”

Whether it was his manner or the mention of Dwalin and Balin, Frodo couldn't say, but both dwarves straightened. Kili even seemed a little apologetic.

“Yes, Mister Bo-aggins.”

Frodo turned to Fili again. But instead of being given the dwarf's coat, the blond prince stepped back a little and said “I wouldn't want to impose on you Mister Baggins, it would be sufficient, if you could tell me were to put our things.”

“Maybe that was a little bit too much.”  Frodo mused, as he directed them to put their things away. “I've never been that good at making a favorable first impression, but I can't have intimidated them now, can I?”

Frodo didn't think he could. And it certainly didn't seem like it, because their smiles came back when they noticed Dwalin come down the corridor.

“Fili, Kili. Come on, give us a hand.” the big dwarf said and maneuvered Kili – “Mister Dwalin!” – deeper into Bag-End.

Frodo on his part remained standing in the hall for a few seconds and looked at them move away. “So this are the nephews of Thorin Oakenshield. I can see why Bilbo was so saddened about their death. They seem very young.” Then he shrugged a little and went back into the kitchen.

Taking out and setting all that was needed on the kitchen table took Frodo a few minutes, as his normal tableware was a 12er set and he had to reach the number 15. He had to get his better tableware out, which was in a cupboard rather high up. Frodo was just in the act of balancing the last plates and stepping down from a stool, when the two younger dwarves entered the room.

Kili, for his part, stopped by the table, but Fili came up to Frodo and took the plates form him, after asking for permission with a look. “Maybe I was really a little sharp with what I said earlier.” Frodo mused and said “Thank you, Mister Fili.” 

This now seemed to amuse the darker brother, Frodo thought, as the dwarf began to snicker and mumble something Fili seemed to understand. Stepping down from his stool, the hobbit watched Fili kick his brother's shin as he walked out of the room, causing Kili to yelp and rattle the table a little bit.

“You can take about anything form the table into the other room, if you wish to help.” Frodo addressed Kili. And when Frodo saw Kili nod, he stacked the majority of the plates and a number of cups and glasses on top of each other and handed them to Kili.

Patting his own pockets to see, if he could put the cutlery into them, Frodo then found the bun he had saved from Dwalin earlier this evening. Pulling it out, Frodo frowned at the piece of food in his hands, wondering if he should eat it or put it away. It had suffered quite a bit and lost some of the apple pieces he had backed into it. Usually he would bake unsweetened buns to go with a stew, but as he was still feeling slightly wobbly from the day before, he craved the sweetness and rich flavor to smooth his worries.

“Is that cinnamon in there?” Kili's voice pulled him out of his contemplation. Lifting his eyes to look at the dwarf, Frodo noticed him starring slightly wide eyed.

Frodo nodded “It is a bit crumbled, but you can have it, if you want. I am afraid Mister Dwalin ate the rest.“ and watched Kili swallow and nod sharply. Frodo placed the bun on the small tower of tableware in Kili's hands and turned back to the table.

“Off you go, Mister Kili.”, he motioned for the dwarf to bring the tableware to the dining room. “I will manage perfectly fine with the rest.”

Then he began stacking the rest of the tableware and wondered what this reaction had been about.

When Frodo entered the bigger dining room again and set down the rest of the tableware – which was promptly taken out of his hands and set up on the table by Fili and Kili – the doorbell rang a third time and sounded quite like a naughty fauntling was trying to pull it off. So this time, he liked to imagine, his movements resembled less the fast nervousness of a retreat and more of his normal stride. As Frodo came into the hall, the doorbell rang again. He hurried to the door and after quickly straightening his waistcoat he opened the door, only to jump back about a meter as an avalanche of dwarves came crashing down on his doorstep.

Surprised by the fact that the dwarves had fallen on his floor, Frodo starred for a second, before exclaiming “Oh dear! Let me help you up!” and pulling a silver-haired dwarf with elaborate braids out from under the pile. He brushed shortly at the dwarf's coat, before bending down again and pulling a young, red haired dwarf out from under a nearly round one. After that it didn't take long for the rest of them to get back to their feet. Counting, Frodo took another step back and addressed the dwarves in a loud voice, as to drown out their annoyed muttering.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service, Masters Dwarves! Take off your shoes at the door and I will take your coats.”

That stopped their muttering short. The only dwarf with a hat on stepped forward and slapped him on his back and right shoulder in a friendly way.

“Thank you lad, but dwarven boots are sturdy, we don't need to take 'em off .”

He didn't seem to notice that his friendly slap had driven the air from Frodo's lungs. After needing a second to breathe again, Frodo leveled him with an unimpressed stare.

“Alas, Mister Dwarf, who-has-not-yet-deemed-it-appropriate-to-introduce-himself, if Mister Dwalin and Balin have taken off their shoes, so will you. Place them with the others.” Frodo said and continued to stare the behatted one – Bofur, was it? – down until he lowered his head and looked unsure from his boots to the boots by the door.

“Go on.” Frodo urged them and saw the silver-haired one take off his shoes. Then said dwarf bowed, his boots still in his hands and said “Dori, at your service!” and pointed at the young one and another dwarf with red hair “These are my younger brothers Nori” – Frodo looked at the brother and nodded – “and Ori.”

Which gave Frodo a nasty surprise for the second time this evening. He managed to nod at Ori, but his mind went back into the black pit under the Misty Mountains. He could see only too vividly, Gandalf pulling a book out of the grasp of a skeleton, which must have been Ori's. His blood was drumming in his ears.

“... we cannot get out. The end comes soon. We hear drums, drums in the deep. They are com-"

Then Bofur, who had taken off his boots, slapped him on his back again. Only this time, as he had retreated far into his memories, Frodo was not able to keep himself from falling. He was pulled harshly out of his memories, when he collided with the dwarf's arms.

“Sorry lad. There, all done.” he wiggled his socked feet, “Bofur at your service.” he introduced himself and helped Frodo stand again.

“It's ok.” Frodo murmured and shook his head, to clear his thoughts.

The rest of the dwarves, having taken off their shoes, came to introduce themselves now, like a small procession and then went on, to hang their coats. Frodo nodded at all of them and after they all had introduced themselves Frodo noticed that Mister Balin had come into the hall and was waiting for them to come along. As he turned to lead them into the dining room, Frodo called out to him.

“Mister Balin.”

The dwarf turned back around.

“My pantries are to the right. Take from the biggest one first, please.”

Balin nodded once and then set the other dwarves on getting food into the biggest dining room.

Frodo for his part stayed in the hall for a few minutes longer, taking the chance to shake the residue anxiety his latest stroll down the memory lane had left him with. When he decided he was done, he took a deep breath, forced his hand to release his shoulder and stepped into what seemed to him, organized chaos. Standing in the hall between the biggest dining room, the kitchen and the pantries, he could only marvel at he dwarves ability to avoid collisions. After standing and turning quite uselessly a few times he noticed something peculiar, though. Even the dwarves' most dangerous balance acts did not, in fact, spill any food or drink. Frodo frowned and wondered about that. He remembered Bilbo telling him that they hadn't been all that well of. In the mean time the silver haired dwarf – Dori – had vanished into his kitchen. Frodo watched the rest of them settle down a bit. Then Fili, beer jugs in hand made to step on the table.

“Mister Fili.” Frodo said not loudly. His voice carried.“My tables are not for stepping on.”

The volume in the room decreased drastically. Like his brother before him Fili froze, one foot in mid air. Then he stepped back from the table and turned around to look at Frodo sheepishly.

“Sorry, Master Baggins.”

Frodo just waved him around the table. This was the bigger dining room, for the Valar's sake, room was something there was in abundance. Not like in the smaller dining room, right across the other pantry. Frodo had just decided to go and bring out a barrel of the Green Dragon's black beer, as to stop any dwarves from pulling a stunt like this again, when he felt a light tap on his left shoulder. He turned and came face to face with Mister Dori, who had wandered out of the kitchen again. On the dwarf's left hand balanced a tea tray.

“Master Baggins.” the oldest of the Ri brothers said. “Please excuse me, but may I tempt you with a cup of tea?”

Frodo felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “Tea. Just what I need.” Frodo nodded and watched Dori pour him a cup, with the most measured and graceful movements he had ever seen anyone use to pour tea. “How strange.” he thought and eyed the dwarf a little closer. His clothes were good quality, if a little old and worn. Clean. The clasps in his hair were made of copper and in the warm light of the room the dwarf's elaborately braided hair shone like mithril. Then taking the cup of tea Dori offered, Frodo put that information away for later examination.

“Thank you, Mister Dori. Just what I needed.” he vocalized his earlier thoughts and let himself be ushered to sit at one of the short sides of the table. “I don't think this has happened to Bilbo.” Frodo reckoned and watched the dwarves closest to him pile a plate high and set it down in front of him. Something he had done or said, seemed to have prompted polite behavior from them. Frodo took a cheese bun from his plate and noted – as he bit into it – that the conversations and the merry making started up again. “Very curious.”

Another piece of information he mentally shelved and put away for later. For now the realization that he made a difference, had to be just that. He would think about it later. “No need to get anxious now, Frodo Baggins. That would be entirely unhelpful.”

He settled, instead, for informing them that there was dessert to be had. And wine. “There are a few cakes and tarts in the other pantry, for later.” He stated and watched to see, who had heard. Like a few minutes prior the whole room fell silent. “There is wine in the cellar for those of you, who prefer not to drink beer. Also, I would think it easier to bring a barrel into the dining room. Anyway, feel free to take any of it.” He continued and made to stand, only to be placed back in his chair by Bofur. Said dwarf had his hands on Frodo's shoulders and was directing a blinding smile at him. 

“You stay here laddie, we'll see to everything.”

Frodo nodded and settled for watching the rest of the dwarves. On his left was Gloin, whom he had last seen at the council of Elrond. Frodo had very fond memories of Gloin telling him about Erebor. That and the fact that he was Gimli's father left Frodo with a favorable impression of the dwarf. He got plus points for being Gimli's father, because Gimli would always hold a special place in Frodo's heart. During 'The Quest' he had spend many a evening trading stories about Bilbo's quest with him and realized after only a few evenings that Gimli had a clever mind and a very charming personality, if he only wanted to. Trading biting remarks and witty comments, they had gotten on like a house on fire. Frodo missed him, as he missed all of them.

Anyway, next was Nori, whom Frodo knew next to nothing about. Only that he had become spymaster of Erebor later on. Gloin had mentioned it. Sure, he knew Bilbo's descriptions by heart, but he did not want to assume. Then came the vacant seats of Fili and Kili. Bifur sat in the corner next to them, curiously eating a few marigold flowers from a vase behind him. “He likes peppery or spicy food then.” Frodo decided. Next came Bombur, sitting at the other end of the table. He was examining a roast beef Frodo had made just this morning and Frodo could see that what he found seemed to please him, which in turn got him plus points with Frodo. Then came Oin, whom – again – he knew next to nothing about. And then came Dwalin, who – it seemed – had found cookies in the other pantry. Even if he felt awkward around Dwalin, Frodo had already decided that he liked the warrior.

At this point there was a knock on the door that sounded distinctly like Gandalf's staff hitting his freshly painted front door. But before he could do anything Balin had already caught Frodo's eye and stood up to get the door. This left Frodo looking at the dwarves again, halfheartedly gnawing on the same bun he had bitten into earlier.

Bofur seemed like a good fellow, if a bit careless. Next was Balin's empty chair. Dori sat next to it. Frodo found his good manners – thirty years of nothing but had made Frodo a bit more critical than before – a nice change. Ori was last, and sat right beside Frodo. He refrained from turning his head, lest he'd be caught starring. From the corners of his eyes he could see Ori nearly drowning in his big, knitted jumper.

Still gnawing at his bun, he filed all the information away and listened for Balin's voice in the hall. It seemed like Balin was giving the wizard a good talking to, for which Frodo was very grateful. He really wasn't in the right mindset for that. For any of this, really, but Frodo would not let himself go down that road.

Then he heard Balin and Gandalf move down the hall. Frodo put down his bun on the edge of his ridiculously full plate and looked expectantly at the doorway. A few seconds later Balin and Gandalf stepped through it. Frodo stood up and channeling his inner Bilbo, he pretended to feel quite displeased with Gandalf. The wizard had not handled the situation nicely and he knew it. Basically it was a matter of principal for Frodo.

Most of the dwarves were now pretending to be pointedly uninterested in the wizard, but Frodo could see that they were waiting for something to happen. Apparently Balin had told them of the wizard's failure to inform Frodo of their arrival before hand.

Sighing Frodo turned to Gandalf.

“You would not have invited a company into Bag-End without so much as a by your leave, if it still was Belladonna Baggins, who lived here. Won't you give her son the same courtesy?” Frodo stated in a voice that clearly conveyed his disappointment. It was the very same voice, he had always used after the Ruin of the Shire, when some of the Hobbits on his land had still behaved, as if Saruman was in charge. “Even if Misters Balin and Dwalin have been so kind as to help me set up the tables, I would have liked to prepare in advance.”

Frodo watched Gandalf's eyebrows nearly vanish into his hair after this little lie.

“We can only be grateful to Master Baggins that he did not send us right back into the night again, when we arrived. Not only he invited strangers into his home, he is feeding us and even offered us the very food and drink he had prepared for himself.” Balin continued Frodo's line of thought.

“Feel free to take from one of the kegs of pipe weed in the smaller pantry, too.” Frodo said absentmindedly and waved his hand.

Meanwhile Gandalf seemed to become older and older. He did not offer any apologies, but he seemed to rethink the way he had handled the situation.

“You would not have agreed.” He stated at least, without any intention of meaning it as a excuse.

“I would not have.” Frodo agreed.

“I see.” Gandalf said and inclined his head the tiniest bit. “I will inform you, should there be a next time.”

Around the table the dwarves seemed to be impressed and Frodo knew he had actually managed to one-up Gandalf and make him rethink his decisions. The surprises never seemed to crease this evening. “At least this one is a positive one.”

A few minutes later space had been made for Gandalf and the dwarves were merrily enjoining themselves and the food again. A number of food items were flying over the table at any time, but always got caught before they could hit the ground or become uneatable. It was a sight Frodo quite enjoyed, because it reminded him of Merry and Pippin, when they still were young tweens. They were decimating the food on the table fast and made no difference between vegetable and meat dishes. Only Frodo's plate was still piled high and had stayed nearly untouched, as Frodo already had had dinner together with Dwalin and did not quite feel like eating.

That was when the doorbell rung once again. “I suppose this has to be Thorin.” Frodo thought and moved out of the bigger dining room. A number of dwarves had apparently come to the same conclusion and Balin followed Frodo to the door.

He opened the door and knew instantly, what Bilbo had meant, when he had described Thorin the way he had. The expression on Thorin's face was haughtier than anything Frodo had ever seen and he indeed said nothing about service, when Balin introduced them. He just turned, hung his coat and said in a distinctively irritated voice “I lost my way twice, I thought you said the place was easy to find.” Then he looked Frodo over and frowned, seemingly wanting to say something, but refraining from doing so.

Contempt in his eyes, he also would have stepped directly into the parlor – with boots on and everything – if Frodo had not anticipated it and stopped him.

“Please leave your boots by the door, Master Oakenshield.”

Thorin's expression grew even darker. And behind Frodo's back, Balin motioned for Thorin to take off his boots, maybe using Iglishmek to tell Thorin something. It took a few seconds, but then Thorin took off his boots and strode through the parlor and kitchen into the hall and into the bigger dining room. Nodding at an apologetic looking Balin, Frodo made to follow the dwarven crown prince into his Hobbit-hole.

In the dining room Thorin had seemingly decided that he was to sit at the head of the table. And so, on top of deciding that the remaining food was his, he had sat down in Frodo's place. Snorting softly Frodo resigned himself to keep standing.

“Very important dwarf, indeed. Marvelous. He's a very charming fellow.”

It was good that no one could hear his thoughts, Frodo mused. He was sure biting sarcasm would not have endeared him to the company.

To Frodo's left Bofur was getting a 15^th chair out of the kitchen and just as he placed it by the table, Thorin instructed Balin to take out the contract between two bites.

Balin, who had just sat down, stood up again, and took the contract out of a pocket, handing it to Frodo.

“It's just the usual. ” He said, apparently leaving out the part about the funeral arrangements this time. Frodo taught that very nice of him. Turning into the hallway for better lighting, he began to read. He noted that the contract was very well written and even was quite fine with the contents, until he had finished the “possible injuries” part and began on the “possible deaths” part, making the mistake to read a few words out loud.

These few words apparently prompted Bofur to comment about dragon fire, which in itself should not have been a problem for Frodo, if only his mind had not begun showing him scenes of Orodruin erupting, with the first mentioning of searing heat. Which was why he spent about half a minute fighting black spots in his vision, faintly hearing Balin ask, if he was okay. Then he gave up and hit the ground right in front of Thorin's feet.

------

When he came back to “life” again, he was laying on his bed. After a few seconds of starring at the ceiling, he heard humming and realized that, no, he wasn't having another bad dream. Quietly he checked himself for injuries, finding a bit of scraped skin on this left elbow and a small bump at the back of his head. Then he moved to sit up slowly, and standing, carefully moved into the direction the humming came from.

It had been a few years since he had last passed out from sheer anxiety. He was ought to be more careful with himself.

When he came into the parlor, he was just in time to hear the dwarves begin to sing. The sound was deep and full, more suited for wide halls deep within the earth than a hobbit-hole, but it moved his scared heart anyway. And as they took out their instruments to accompany the song after the second verse, he felt himself stand a little firmer in his decision to go with them.

As the dwarves sung, Frodo also felt their fierce love and the desire in their hearts. He assumed this would have been the time, when the tookish part of Bilbo's heart had decided, that it wanted to go and see great mountains and wild lands, and carry a sword rather than a walking stick. But as it was Frodo did not have any tookish blood. And neither had he the wish to hold a sword ever again. And yet, he could not but wish to help them, as in their song he had not only felt the jealous love of beautiful things and gleaming gold, but the desire to regain their lost home, too. He had felt much the same, when Marry, Pippin, Sam and himself had come back from The Quest, and had found the Shire in ruins. The dark crept into the parlor through a open window and Frodo had no trouble imagining the dwarven kingdom of Erebor, with its halls deep within the lonely mountain, resembling in his imagination the wide, dark halls of Moria.

He got up trembling. Standing he intended to get some light, to chase away the dark that had crept into his hobbit hole, like it was intending to eat Frodo up and spit him out in the winding tunnels of Cirith Ungol again. He also felt the need to go and hide under his covers, but that need he squashed ruthlessly. Suddenly he realized, the music and the singing had stopped and all the dwarves were looking at him with eyes shining in the dark.

“Where are you going?” Thorin said in a voice that seemed to vibrate within the walls.

“To get a little light?” Frodo suggested a little tiredly. The swift change of his emotions often left Frodo feeling tiered on his worse days.

“Dark for dark business.” One of them said. “There are many hours before dawn.”

“Yet the dark before dawn always seems the darkest.” Frodo very nearly snapped, his fatigue turning to irritation.

He left the dwarves where they sat and he left the room, too. In the kitchen, he took some candles out of a kitchen drawer to bring into the parlor. On his way back he also grabbed a lamp from his study and passed Mister Dori by.

Then, back in the parlor, he took out match sticks from his trouser pockets and lit the first candle. He was greeted with a critical look from Gandalf.

“Now Bilbo Baggins, let Thorin speak.”

Frodo leveled the wizard and all of the dwarves with an unimpressed stare, until Dori distracted him once more, with a hot mug of tea.

But Thorin, being the very important dwarf he was, had not noticed anyway, and begun what seemed to be a speech, with a few begrudgingly polite words about Frodo's hospitality. He went on explaining, about why they where here and what they would be doing, giving a lot of information that was already known, because that seemed to be his habit. He went on for a long time, but Frodo was only listening with half a ear. After the first ten minutes his mind had turned to dark memories again. By the time Thorin finished his speech, explaining why there was no help to be found in the Iron Hills, Frodo had gone awfully pale again and was swaying in his seat.

Because Frodo was thus occupied he didn't notice that Gloin was watching him. After watching Frodo sway for a few moments, he harrumphed and spoke up.

“Will Master Baggins do you think? It is all very well for Gandalf to talk about him being fierce, but a reaction like that in a moment of excitement and he will be in grave danger. In fact, if it had not been for the sign on the door, I would think, we've come to the wrong house. As soon as I clapped eyes on his thin and wispy form, I had my doubts.”

Had Frodo not known the very same manner from Gimli, he might have thought Gloin to be quite hostile. But as it was, he could recognize the slight worry for his person in Gloin's words. Frodo felt oddly touched by the fact that the dwarf would go out of his way to worry about a strange hobbit.

But to his right Thorin was nodding. He scowled and turned to Gandalf.

“I would think he's a grocer rather than a burglar. Gandalf, you told us there was someone of the sort in these parts looking for a job.”

Gandalf, whose face had gone darker and darker at Thorin's words, replied. “You asked me to find the fourteenth member of your expedition, and I choose Mr. Baggins. Just let anyone say I choose the wrong- .”

But Frodo, who had quite enough about this, choose this moment to interrupt. He knew that the dwarves might fail without a hobbit.

Frodo cleared his throat rather loudly, and fixed both of them in a stare that he knew to unnerve people. Not that he thought that he'd actually manage, but it was enough for them to get the message.

“Regardless, Master Thorin. Treat it as the right one. Tell me what you want done, I'll do it, and if I have to cross burning wastes and fight fell wraiths of long gone times, so be it.” his voice was sharp as he spoke and even as he trembled at the thought, there was no doubt in Frodo's mind that he'd do just that, and face his biggest fears, to see the dwarves back in their mountain. He wouldn't allow himself to do anything else.

Frodo could see the rest of the company starring at him, Kili and curiously Dwalin gaping slightly, but as Thorin did not say otherwise Frodo took it that they accepted his words.

On the other side of the room, Gandalf, who in contrast seemed quite pleased with himself, took what seemed to be a key and a map out of his robes.

What followed was a long talk that must have gone on until the small hours of the night, but Frodo wouldn't have known. About ten minutes into discussing the hidden door into the lonely mountain, his body had demanded retribution for the excitement of the day and he'd fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

When he woke again, it was still dark outside and his parlor was full of sleeping dwarves. He shook himself awake a little more and realized that there were muffled voices coming from the direction of the bigger dinning room. Counting and naming the dwarves in his parlor, he concluded the voices belonged to Thorin, Fili, Balin and Dwalin. And maybe Gandalf because he seemed to have wandered off to somewhere. It would not do to have the dwarves sleep in the floor, Frodo's Bilbo would have been scandalized. Soundlessly he moved out of the parlor and planned how he'd go about getting every dwarf settled. Bag-End, whilst being big did not have enough guest rooms for every dwarf to have his own bed, but he figured they would not mind sharing. Luckily dwarves were not all that tall and they'd fit into normal hobbit beds. They would be rather … cozy, but it would work. Moving down the hall, Frodo took various blankets and cushions out of cupboards and placed them in the guestrooms, as to accommodate his guests. He'd have to give up his own bedroom to make all of them fit in, but that would not be a problem. Frodo would sleep in the study, after all there was a chaise longue in the corner for the exact purpose of sleeping on. After getting everything ready for his guests, Frodo opened the door to the only man-sized guestroom in Bag-End and finding that Gandalf had claimed it, he quietly shut the door again and let Gandalf sleep.

Back in the parlor he stopped for a moment and tried to figure out, which dwarf he could wake without getting hit over his head. He remembered very well from The Quest that it was a bad idea to wake a warrior from deep sleep. Especially if they didn't know you all that well. Pippin had tried that with Boromir, only a few nights after they had left Rivendell. Not that Boromir had permanently damaged Pippin, but the hit he had dealt out must have hurt. Smiling fondly at the memory of Pippin terrorizing a very apologetic Boromir with demands of being carried, he decided that Mister Bifur would do. If Frodo remembered right, Mister Bifur had originally been a toy maker.

Making sure that there was a footrest between himself and the dwarf, Frodo lightly tapped Bifur's shoulder.

After a few seconds, the dwarf was awake and made no move whatsoever to attack him.

Bifur only looked questioningly at him.

“I have prepared rooms for you. Could you help me wake the others, please? I do not believe some of them would appreciate being woken by me.” Frodo whispered. He watched a warm smile spread over Bifur's face and received a nod.

“Maybe your cousins fist? I'll show them the way and you could wake the others?”

Bifur nodded again and rising with remarkably little noise, he moved to wake up his cousins.

In the mean time Frodo went over to the hallway and when they had woken up enough to notice him, he gestured for them to follow. They would need space, so Frodo's bedroom was probably the only room that would do for them, it was the biggest bedroom in Bag-End after all. But not wanting to be disrespectful he just led them down the hall and pointed at the door, hoping they hadn't been the ones to place him there when he had fainted. He didn't feel like discussing his choice of room placement. When they did not say anything, he left them and went back to the parlor.

Bifur in the mean time, seemed to have woken most of the company, though Frodo could see that Kili had fallen asleep again after changing positions. He repeated the process of leading the dwarves to their assigned rooms until only Kili and Bifur were left and then waited for Bifur to shake Kili awake once again.

Still a little bleary Kili looked for his brother.

“He is in the other room with your uncle and your cousins.” Frodo said quietly. “I'll get them after you've settled down.”

Then Frodo motioned for Kili and Bifur to follow him and deposited the still very sleepy Kili in one of the guestrooms. Closing the door behind him, Frodo was met with the amused and slightly questioningly looking face of Bifur. Frodo did not say anything, and the dwarf did not elaborate on his thoughts. Not that Frodo would have understood him.

“It would be nice, if I could learn Kudzdul.” Frodo mused as he led Bifur to the master bedroom. He knew that the language was secret, but the scholar in him could still hope, couldn't he? That and the fact that Frodo didn't think he was up to learning Iglishmek anyway. But learning Kudzdul would surely be very interesting.

When he stopped in front of the door the dwarf looked knowingly at Frodo and pulled up an eyebrow.

“So he must have carried me here. I wonder if he was the only one?”

But instead of vocalizing his questions, Frodo only sighed.

“Thank you.” he offered quietly to Bifur, hoping the dwarf would understand. “There aren't enough rooms. I have an extra bed in my study.”

It seemed, the ax in Bifur's head had only taken away the dwarf's ability to speak common and not any of his wits. Maybe. Not that Frodo would think any less of him if it had, but his own experience tainted his views a bit, Frodo knew. He had spend the last few weeks of the journey to Orodruin barely holding onto his own mind. He wouldn't wish something like that on anyone. Anyway, Bifur only bowed deeply and when he rose again Frodo could see understanding in his eyes. Then the dwarf opened the door quietly and vanished into the room.

And Frodo for his part, was left to get the stragglers from the dining room.

Walking along his hall, Frodo began feeling rather strange. And after a moment he recognized the feeling as something one sometimes gets when preparing for a longer journey, the feeling of a kind of disconnection from your environment.

“Can't go on a journey without that now.” He thought and then shook his head. He should let off that sarcasm, lest he would use it on some of the dwarves.

As he came to the bigger dining room, he stopped and had a look at the occupants before announcing his presence. It was a rather cozy scene. Thorin and Balin were sitting hunched over the map Gandalf had produced earlier this evening, talking in hushed voices, and Fili was beside Thorin, but it seemed he had lost the fight against sleep some time ago. He was sleeping with his head in his arms at an awkward angle on the table. And Dwalin seemed to be dozing in a chair, facing the door. At least Frodo thought he was, until he lazily opened an eye and looked at Frodo. Frodo gave him a small smile and cleared his throat.

Thorin and Balin's quiet murmur stopped instantly, and their heads shot up to look at him. 

“I have prepared beds for you. The others are already sleeping and I would advise you to settle down too, so we can be off after first breakfast tomorrow.” Frodo said softly, not wanting to wake Fili just yet.

Thorin seemingly wanted to protest, but Balin who apparently had more sense than his esteemed leader, spoke up first, silencing any attempt to complain.

“So you will come with us laddie?”

Frodo nodded. “If you have the contact at hand I would sign it now.”

Frodo waited just long enough for Balin to produce a small ink pot and the contact, before he turned to Thorin again.

“Listen Master Oakenshield, you could be off at dawn, but your company has consumed quite a bit, not to say a lot, of alcohol this evening and I believe some of them would rather have a breakfast to settle their stomachs come morning. Also, I recon you'd want to take what is left in my pantries with you, to boost your provisions.”

“And what would a grocer like you know about traveling provisions, Mister Baggins?”

What it was with Thorin and grocers, Frodo did not know.

“To be that, Master Dwarf, I do not have the girth. If you would have actually looked at me you would have noticed.” Frodo sassed and immediately continued “But I happen to know about starvation and believe me if I say it would not be a nice thing to run out of food supplies a few weeks into your journey, as you'd probably know.”

Then Frodo turned around, took the pen Balin had produced out of the surprised dwarf's hands and signed the contact.

Thorin seemed to have gone quiet.

Setting down the pen, Frodo pointedly looked at the sleeping form of Thorin's older nephew.

“Now, if you would follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

Frodo moved to the door and looked back to see the dwarves picking themselves up from their chairs. And after a moment of standing, Thorin the very important dwarf himself, bend down and picked up Fili, carrying the still sleeping youngster through the room.

“Oh my.” Frodo thought “Now that is adorable.” He stored the information away and moved on.

Walking down the hall Frodo pointed Thorin and Fili in the direction of Kili's room and then got Balin and Dwalin settled. And then, only after he made sure no candles had been left burning, he went to bed on the little chaise longue in his study.

----------

The next morning came and proofed itself to be a lovely day. The sun shone, it wasn't cold or windy and -.

“Damnation.”

Eyes still closed Frodo fumbled for whatever had caused that crick in his neck. “Botheration.”

Eventually and under several cushions his hand bumped into something hard. Pulling hard and dislodging a cushion, the thing came free and Frodo opened his eyes to glare at the offending object. A book, not too big, not too small, and just what he had been searching for three weeks previous. The Lay of Leithien.

For good measure Frodo continued glaring at it and repeated, “Damnation.”

Then he dropped it beside his chaise longue, where the thing had the audacity to bounce off the fallen cushion and come to a stop face down, and crinkling its pages a few feet away. Frodo peeked at it, frowned and with a quick look out of the window decided that it was nearing first breakfast and he should be getting up. He then groaned at the book. What had come over him to stuff it under the cushions of his chaise longue he would never know. But that wouldn't keep him from cursing it, after all no one wanted to start a journey with a crick in their neck.

“Thinking of which, I promised the dwarves a breakfast.” Frodo thought and sat up. Trying to massage his own neck, he stood up and pulled on the traveling clothes he had placed in the study yesterday. And only after that, he shuffled over to the offending book and picked it up. He run his fingers over the cover and after a moment of remembering the other book he was reading, decided to take a book along with him. Just one. Frodo placed the Lay of Leithien back in the bookshelf it belonged to and glanced at his traveling pack, where it was resting against the corner of his writing desk. The book on the Union of Maedhros it would be. He fetched it from where he had placed it on top of the desk and transferred the book into his pack. It would be heavy, but in a pinch, he could use it to knock out an attacker. It was definitely heavy enough for that.

Frodo smiled to himself and carried his pack into the hall to put beside the dwarves' boots. Then he stopped by the bathroom and moved into the kitchen.

A few minutes later Frodo was sipping from his first cup of tea and the air was filled with the aroma of sizzling beacon and sausages. Bread was toasting over the fire. Just as Frodo poured milk into a pot to make porridge, he heard shuffling feet outside his kitchen.

“Come in!” He called.

The figure of Ori came to stand in the door, looking a little lost. “Good Morning, Master Baggins.” The young dwarf fidgeted with a seam and stepped from one foot to another, looking unsure.

Frodo smiled at him. “I hadn't expected anyone for at least another half an hour, and breakfast is not quite done yet, but I could find something for you.” Frodo said. “Or you could go and have bath before the others wake up and use all the warm water. If you like.”

“Really? Sorry, I mean are you sure? I mean, I'm sure it would be expensive to heat water for all … I mean … .” Ori trailed off and looked like he was berating himself over his manners.

Stirring his porridge, Frodo smiled again. “Oh, I'm quite sure, Mister Ori. After all we won't be enjoying any luxuries for a while. Go on, down the long hall, the door at the end. Towels are on the shelf to the right.”

Frodo counted it as a personal accomplishment that Ori flashed him a big smile and very nearly run out of the kitchen because he was so eager to get to the bathroom. Humming a little, Frodo turned back to the stove.

“That was nice of you.” Said a voice behind his back.

Flinching slightly Frodo turned around to look at that dwarf that was confidently leaning against the doorway. “Mister Nori.”He greeted. “You can, too.”

“Nah, our king left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh?” Frodo replied and pulled up an eyebrow.

“To get the ponies.” Nori offered, smirking. And Frodo wondered, if he was missing a joke.

“You will want to eat before you go.” He said instead. Frodo took a plate and piled it high with everything he had already made, and set it on the table, urging Nori to sit and eat. The dwarf had after all, enjoyed himself quite a bit yesterday evening. A hearty breakfast would do him good. Then Frodo reached for one of the teapots.

“I have a tea against headaches, if you want some.” He said, causing Nori to flash him a look. A few seconds went by and Nori nodded.

“My thanks.” The dwarf said, as Frodo filled a mug for him.

Then Frodo was left to cook in silence. When he bent down to check on his breakfast muffins some time later, he heard the quiet clink of plates in his sink and when he looked up again Nori was gone.

“I wonder what Mister Nori is doing, following the very important King around.” Frodo thought to himself and couldn't help but think of Aragorn, ragged, dirty and hiking through the wilderness between Rivendell and the Shire. Frodo was suddenly overcome with nostalgia. Frodo held onto that feeling for a few seconds and then moved on and took the plates from where they had been left yesterday. He moved into the bigger dining room to set the table. “It is not like the Shire is dangerous.”

Frodo went back for the cutlery. Opening the drawer beside the sink he took a handful of spoons out and promptly cursed. Someone had picked out the silver spoons he had intentionally mixed with the normal ones. Thinking for a moment he shook his head and then complained “Curse it, Mister Nori! I don't have enough spoons for this.” Not that Frodo thought Mister Nori wouldn't give them back, eventually, but this left him with a lack of spoons. And if he remembered Bilbo's stories right, Mister Nori had taken the doilies last time, and gradually sneaking the lot of them back into Bilbo's possession, he had left Bilbo with doilies in random places. He didn't need an abundance of spoons on the road. What would he do with random spoons? Spoon eyes out of orc skulls? Frodo cringed at himself. Taking the muffins out of the oven and replacing them with bread rolls, he continued to mumble and curse without any fire, until he realized that someone was standing in the door, trying to get his attention.

He turned around and saw Ori standing in the doorway again. Behind Ori, Frodo could see Kili walking back to his room, a water jug in hand. Apparently the dwarf had gotten himself some water from the laundry room. Frodo refocused on Ori.

“Oh, Mister Ori. Come in, please. I fear I'm still not done.” Looking the dwarf's still damp, but very neat braids over, Frodo motioned for him to sit down at the kitchen table.

“It's no bother Master Baggins, I'll just wait for everyone to wake up.” The young dwarf said, still a tad timid.

Frodo couldn't help, but smile a little at him and feel the need to put him at ease. So he placed a muffin in front of the dwarf and said “If you'd be so kind stop that “Master Baggins” business, Mister Ori, I recon we'll be spending a lot time in each others company.”

Then he finished setting the table, all the while trying to make light conversation with Ori. In the end they ended up talking about the Shire, because he noticed that Ori seemed interested in the ways and customs of hobbits. Frodo was just telling Ori about the Tooks and the Thain, taking the last batch of bread rolls out of the oven, when he heard steps in the hall. The steps were followed by the pounding of a dwarfish fist against a door and Mister Dwalin's voice calling for Fili and Kili to wake up. At the same time Dori, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur entered the kitchen.

“Good Morning.” Frodo greeted them and received three pained grunts and an “And to you.” from Dori. Frodo took note of that and herded the group, including Ori into the bigger dining room. Oin and Gloin, who only looked little better than the Ur-Family followed after them, apparently having seen them move into the dining room from the hallway. Frodo walking along behind the dwarves wondered in the mean time, why Fili and Kili wouldn't open their door for Mister Dwalin.

Then Frodo got the dwarves his hangover remedy and moved back into the kitchen. Taking the baking tray out of the oven, to take the bread rolls from their tray and into a bread basket, he heard the crash of one of the guestroom doors hitting a wall from being forced open and then twin yelps from Fili and Kili. Naturally he flinched at the noise and nearly dropped the still hot baking tray. Frodo burned his right hand and his brow furrowed in displeasure. Consequently, grabbing a wooden cooking spoon, he went to make sure that Dwalin and the boys had not destroyed his home.

Ignoring the struggling dwarves in the room Frodo inspected the damage Dwalin had done to his poor door and found the door handle scratched and a little dented from where it had hit the wall. Frodo sighed and turned to the dwarves.

“Excuse me.” The two youngsters continued to fight a very harried looking Dwalin.

“Excuse me!” He tried again and watched Kili and Fili tackling Dwalin to the ground, causing the water jug on a side table to wobble dangerously.

Disappointed, Frodo sighed. Then he frowned slightly and made up his mind. With three quick steps he crossed half of the room, kicked a dwarfish boot and called out.

“BOYS!” The three wrestling dwarves stopped, looking up. The boot hit a bedpost only an inch from Fili's head. Fili flinched.

“Why did they even take their boots into their room? And when?”

“Boys,” Frodo repeated, addressing Fili and Kili. “There is breakfast to be had, kindly go now and have some.” For good measure Frodo followed his words up with a displeased look. Fili and Kili took the hint and hurriedly scrambled up and nearly ran out of the room.

“Don't knock anything over.” He called after them, making his voice carry.

Then he turned to Dwalin, who had gotten back to his feet in the mean time.

Something within Frodo's mind reared it's head.

“Master Baggins- .” Dwalin tried.

“Mister Dwalin” Frodo cut him off with a low voice, placing his hands on his hips. “You are old enough to know better than to solve every little problem with force, what were you doing?”

Dwalin, realizing he had somehow messed something up, tried to evade the scolding he saw coming down on his head. “Listen here Master Baggins-.”

“You have dented my door handle.”

Dwalin, looking distinctively uncomfortable now, tried to place a calming hand on Frodo's shoulder. Which only earned his a painful whack from the cooking spoon on his fingers. Dwalin let out an undignified yelp, before he regained control over himself again.

Looking at the huge dwarf Frodo could see that Dwalin was now quite confused. The dwarf clearly wasn't in a situation like this often. “More likely, he hasn't encountered anyone my size, who had the guts to scold him before. But we have already established that yesterday. I might as well use it to my advantage.” Frodo thought. Outwardly he only looked pointedly at Dwalin and said “Mister Dwalin, please take care not to damage my smial again. Now, please continue to the dining room, there should still be some of my headache remedy left, if you should want it.”

Dwalin visibly relaxed. “I will.” He agreed gruffly, but visibly relieved and left the room. Frodo followed after him.

When he arrived back in the bigger dining room, the rest of the Company, sans Thorin, Nori and Balin were enjoying their breakfast. Frodo re-entered the room just in time to see Dwalin sit down. Standing by the doorway he noticed that like before, the Company had left the chair at the head of the table unoccupied. Frodo moved to it and sat down. Fortunately for him the chairs to his left were occupied by Fili and Kili, which gave him the chance to talk to them without embarrassing them in front if the whole company.

“Fili, Kili.”

The pair threw him two identical, sheepish looks. Frodo thought they were probably designed to get the two of them out of a lot of trouble, but sadly for them it didn't work on a hobbit with a horde of little, big eyed cousins. Not that they needed it anyway, he only meant to ask them not to bait Mister Dwalin, if there was the chance that his possessions could get destroyed. Because Frodo felt he owed his Bilbo to take care of Bag-End. His Bilbo had gone to great lengths to make sure that Bag-End had been taken care of, after all. It was important to him.

“Boys. I would be very grateful, if you could refrain from baiting Mr. Dwalin as long as you are in my home.” He said and smiled at their surprised looks. “This particular hole in the ground is important to me.”

Then Frodo reached for a breakfast muffin and began to nibble at it, throwing the two dwarves a look.

“Yes, Master Baggins.” Both of them agreed quickly, probably glad that they didn't get scolded for something that had been a harmless fun anyway.

Frodo nodded and then stopped.

“What am I doing, smacking and scolding people?” He thought and decided to follow his previous thoughts a little further. “This is my house, they are eating my food, sleeping in my bed, greedy little bas- … oh.” He frowned at himself. “Oh, indeed Frodo Baggins. Shame on me, this will not do! ” Frodo vowed to be more careful of his own mind. The ring had left him with some very bad ways of thinking. Greed and jealousy, for one. “This is unacceptable, I need to keep better check of myself.”

Then he went back to his muffin and made himself enjoy the fact that his hobbit-hole was so lively.

About thirty minutes into the breakfast, Balin entered the dining room. Judging from the dwarf's wet hair and beard, he had claimed the bathroom after Ori had left it. Frodo took a sip out of his tea mug, which he'd gotten out of the kitchen.

“Good morning.” He greeted and went back to watching and listening to Bofur and Bifur's conversation to his right. The liveliness of the Company kept him from thinking too much and set his mind at ease. At least a little. For now life was good and tomorrow's problems were for tomorrow.

Alas, Frodo's fragile tranquility was disturbed by a knock at the front door, about twenty minutes later. By now most of the dwarves were done eating. Wondering who would come knocking before elevensies, Frodo went to open his front door. And was greeted by the sight of Hobson Gamgee steering a very disgruntled looking Thorin by the elbow.

“'Morning, Mister Bilbo.” Hobson greeted.

Frodo blinked and blinked again. “Good morning, Hobson. What can I do for you?”

“Looking after the Missus' parents down by the Pine Grove, I was, and found a dwarf wandering by the frog pond under the Sackville's orchard.” Hobson patted Thorin's arm.

Frodo's eyebrows rose. The Sackville's orchard was way off the Green Dragon.

“What's a dwarf doing in the Shire, I thought. Best bring him to Mister Bilbo, he will straighten things out. We can't have dwarves getting lost in the Shire now, can we?”

“I wasn't lost!” Thorin hissed, angry but also quite befuddled with Hobson for being herded around Hobbiton. Hobson ignored him. Behind Frodo the rest of the Company shuffled into the hall to listen.

“If there's a problem with such matters, you go to Mister Bilbo, I always say. He's the Thain's nephew after all.” Hobson continued.

Behind his back Frodo heard a gasp. Frodo assumed the great important Thorin being herded by a hobbit was quite a sight for them.

“Thank you, Hobson?” Frodo tried, feeling a little overwhelmed by the trust Hobson put in him.

Hobson couldn't have known that Thorin was his guest, and it was not like Frodo would ever be the Thain (and neither did he want to be) nor hold any power even remotely similar to it. He felt stunned that Hobson thought highly enough of him that he would come to Frodo to have his problems solved.

“The never ending loyalty of the Gamgee's.” He thought and felt a little warm inside.

“Right, Mister Bilbo. I'll leave you to it.” Hobson broke Frodo out of his thoughts.

“Yes, Hobson. And again, thank you.” he answered. Hobson for his part nodded, looking visibly pleased and went down the stairs, leaving Thorin standing in front of the door. At the fence he stopped and looked back with a sly look. “Mister Bilbo? The Missus and I will gladly see to your matters. Until you get back, that its.” Then Hobson opened the gate, turned right and walked down to Bagshot Row.

Frodo called after him.

“Thank you, Hobson!”

Down on the street Hobson raised his right hand about head high to indicate he had heard and kept on walking.

On the steps to Bag-End Frodo smiled to himself. It was nice to know that some things would never change. “Bless him. Bless their whole family.” He thought, wishing upon whichever Valar that took the time to listen. Then he turned to Thorin Oakenshield and motioned for him to come in.

“There is still some breakfast left, Master Oakenshield. You may as well have some, before we leave.”

Shortly after the Company was sitting at his breakfast table again and Frodo, too, was back in his seat. Opposite of Frodo Thorin Oakenshield sat at the other side of the table, a plate of food before him and a cup of tea in his hands. The dwarf seemed content to concentrate on his food and forget about Hobson. Feeling like he had avoided a confrontation, Frodo went back to sipping his tea and looking at the Company. Truth to be told, he didn't want to have any more confrontations with Thorin. He could hold his own in them, sure, but they left him feeling slightly anxious and he could do without that feeling.

“Mister Bilbo?” The tentative voice of Ori reached his ears. Frodo lifted his head to look at him, Ori looked like he had been mustering up his courage for something.

“Yes?”

Ori faltered and Frodo looked questioningly at Balin, who sat left of Ori. But Balin didn't seem to know, so Frodo turned back and waited.

“Why didn't you tell us you were kin to the Thain?” Ori asked, causing Frodo to frown and wonder where this would lead to.

“It isn't important.” Frodo answered truthfully and waited, hoping he would understand what Ori was talking about before he did something to cause offense. “Wait, let me rephrase that.” He drawled mentally. “Cause our esteemed leader offense. The others, after all, don't seem to have such a problem with me.”

Objectively Frodo knew he was doing Thorin an injustice, thinking like this. But he figured that he was allowed to hold a grudge, as long as he only did it within the confines of his own mind, and not let it influence his actions. He did not walk across middle earth to be belittled. No thank you.

Whilst Frodo was occupied with his own mind, Balin had turned to Ori and asked him about the Thain. So when Frodo came back to reality, it was in time to hear Ori wrongly explain “The Thain is their King, Mister Balin.” Causing the Company to crease enjoying the leftovers from breakfast and Frodo to realize what Ori's question had been about. His previous prattling had apparently led Ori to a very wrong conclusion.

“Well done, Frodo Baggins.” He snapped at himself. “If I am not able to impress the difference of a Thain and a king on a willing audience anymore, my communication skills must have become utterly lacking. Maybe I shouldn't have stayed indoors that much. Maybe then I would not to fail at basic communication. Well done, indeed.”

Frodo heaved a great sigh. “He really isn't that important.”

“So the Shire-folk won't do as he says?” Dori came to his little brother's rescue, because he was an good older brother.

“If it is important we do, but- .” Frodo answered, but was cut of by Nori, who had somehow entered his hobbit-hole again.

“And people come to him, if they have problems they can't solve on their own?”

“Well … yes, but-.”

“And he'll protect the borders and the people?” Kili added, seeing the opportunity to mess with Frodo a little.

“I am making this worse, aren't I?” Frodo thought.

“He'll certainly try, but-.” He had to admit.

“He makes treaties?” Fili threw in.

Frodo began to feel quite cross with them at this point. With an irritated movement he run his fingers through his hair and very nearly snapped. “If you must know, yes.”

“Then laddie, I'll have to inform you that he is indeed a king.” Balin said and Frodo tried to change his approach to evade this awkwardness.

“Alright, maybe, but I don't share his family name. I do not hold any kind of office. I merely own some land, which is why Hobson came to me. He is one of my tenants.” He was feeling very cross with them, so much that he nearly was angry. And Frodo knew that it was a cruel, unfair anger that would be eating at him. The dwarves were only operating under their own social rules and if these rules were different from the hobbits' it wasn't the Company's fault. Frodo rarely got angry and more often than not, it was this kind of cruel anger, that didn't feel like it was his own and this terrified him. So he did the only thing felt he could do and desperately tried to fight the feeling and crush it into non-existence. But like always it didn't work and he instead shoved it into a drawer at the very back of his mind. The last few days were absolutely emotionally tiring.

Some of it must have shown on his face, because they let it drop and Frodo was already beginning to feel a little relieved, when Thorin decided to take part in the conversation.

“And how much would be some exactly?” Thorin's voice was perfectly neutral and gave nothing of the dwarf's thoughts away.

“From the Cutting and the Pine Grove up to Bag-End.” The irritation had left him by now and Frodo's voice only sounded tiered.

The room stayed silent. Frodo could nearly see the question mark over the dwarves' heads.

Then Thorin's eyes narrowed.

“So he remembers what Hobson said … or does he remember that it took him a while to walk from the orchard up to Bag-End?” Frodo mused and waited for Thorin to say something.

“And why, Mister Baggins, would you endanger such a comfortable life?” Thorin eventually asked. The dwarf's voice was brittle and his face absolutely expressionless.

And there was the crux of the matter. At least Gandalf had already left and wouldn't hear Frodo's explanation. Not that he would just go and say that he did it for another – his – Bilbo, but he feared that Gandalf might have realized that he was lying, even if he was not – strictly speaking. Alas, they were bound to have this conversation at one point, and Frodo supposed that it might be better to get this out of the way now, before they were out on the road.

“I don't assume you would believe me, if I said I believe no-one deserves to loose their home, Master Oakenshield?”

The dark expression on Thorin's face showed exactly, what the dwarf thought of that.

“That's what I thought. It is true enough, even if that's not my reason for signing the contact.” Frodo said and then let his chin drop and his shoulders hunch a little, quite aware of how this would make him look. “You may have realized that I am not exactly your average hobbit.” He then addressed the whole Company, hopping for the sake of his argument that they had gotten a few good looks at the hobbits of the Shire, before coming to Bag-End. “My tendencies to not enjoy every meal to its fullest and to keep mostly to myself, make me … somewhat of a social pariah.” He said very softly, making Oin move his ear trumpet in his direction. He also could see a few of the dwarves' expressions darken. “And whilst no-one would say anything to my face – heavens forbid someone accused them of having bad manners – I am quite tiered of their whispers and hypocrisy.” For good measure Frodo let some of his earlier anger bleed into his voice. “I can't- I won't bear them anymore.”

Frodo dearly hoped he hadn't overdone it. It would be very ironic he imagined, if they didn't believe him, as he was telling the truth. Only it didn't bother him that the population of Hobbiton was talking about him behind his back. It hadn't bothered Bilbo either. At least his Bilbo. Later on. But that was not the point.

As no-one said anything negative, Frodo squared his shoulders again and looked Thorin Oakenshield dead in the eye. “Is that such a bad reason? Certainly, it is selfish, but seeing you were looking for a burglar, it is not among the worst, I'd imagine.”

At first, Thorin only continued to glare, but after a few seconds he nodded sharply. Once. Then Thorin pushed his chair back and left Frodo with the rest of the Company. Which meant for Frodo that even if it apparently wasn't a good reason in Thorin's eyes, it seemed to be good enough for the dwarf to accept it.

Frodo watched him go and continued to look at the doorway until Balin patted him on the arm and said “Don't mind him laddie, it is hard for him to trust. He's had a hard life.”

Nodding, Frodo only hoped that Thorin's having somehow accepted his reason for coming along would make the journey a little easier for him. He really didn't want to be ostracized until he had the chance to jump in front of a warg for the dwarf. He already had enough anxiety, without needing to fear Thorin's wrath or intentionally endangering his own life. Thank you very much.

“Thank you Mister Balin.” He said and stood to gather some of the dishes, only to be stopped by Bifur.

The dwarf said something in Khuzdul and whilst Frodo was not able to understand the words themselves, the intent was unmistakable.

“No, no Mister Bifur, you are a guest after all. I wouldn't ever live it down, if word got out that I let my guests do the dishes.” Frodo answered and followed his words up with a dismissive and defensive hand movement. Which didn't seem to deter Bifur at all, as he elbowed Bofur in the ribs and when Bofur tried to complain, growled something at him, which made him and Bombur spring to their feet.

“No, I really couldn't … .” Frodo fretted, his hobbit-sense showing (“Thirty years as a respectable hobbit, thank you very much!”) and tried to keep Bofur, who hand moved around the table from grabbing the plates he had already collected out of his hands. This in turn made Bofur give him a uncomfortable and apologetic look and rearrange his hat. “He won't change his mind, ya know?” Bofur said and gently pried the plates out of Frodo's hands. “Just let us … .” Then a wicked smile appeared on Bofur's face and he threw the plates at Bombur. “... clean up!”

Frodo gave a startled yelp at the sight and was halfway to where Bombur was, before he realized and stopped short. He cursed his hobbit-sense of propriety. Frodo would be damned, if he cared about little knick-knacks more than they deserved, they were only things after all. He unconsciously played with the seams of his shirt on his left shoulder. He could not and would not allow himself habits like that. Not again. It could only end badly. It began with harmless things like plates and doilies and ended with … . “Stop it!” He told himself. Then he squared his shoulders and stopped his right hand from fiddling with his shirt. The dwarves could do what ever they wanted with his plates. It would serve as a mental exercise for him.

By now the cutlery was also flying through the air. Following the path of a knife with his eyes and Frodo gave an undignified squeak, when he saw it nearly hit Kili.

Before he knew it the words “Just don't … .” Had left his mouth, causing Bofur to look at him questioningly. “ ... hurt yourselves.” Frodo forced himself not to finish the sentence, because he didn't think they would appreciate the implication that they couldn't control their throws.

“Terrific, Frodo Baggins. How are you going to finish that sentence?” He snapped at himself and racked his brain for something to say.

“... blunt the knives.” Frodo finished lamely.

Chapter Text

The dwarves of whom most were in the progress of carrying tall piles of things, columns of plates with a bottle on top, cutlery and others, stopped for a second and then began to sing.

“Blunt the knives and bend the forks- .”

That, Frodo mused, was what it sounded like when many voices sung Bilbo's “Plates Song”. Frodo had very fond memories of it, as Bilbo had had the habit of humming it under his breath whenever he was doing housework and Frodo had always wondered what it might have sounded like in the first place. But, naturally, he had never asked because he didn't want to make Bilbo sad. It gave him some amount of pleasure that he now knew. And it made him feel closer to his Bilbo. That alone was worth the whole retaking Erebor affair.

When Frodo resurfaced again, the dwarves had finished cleaning up and had left the bigger dining room to get ready for departure. The last unlucky ones, in this case Fili and Kili, were still taking a bath in what was now – Frodo supposed – lukewarm water. But that was their own fault, they could have – after all – taken a bath at any time during breakfast.

Frodo himself had packed the previous day and had been ready to go even before the first dwarf had arrived.

Anyway, that gave him the time to prepare something for lunch to take with. And to clean out the pantries like he had told Thorin the previous night. He made everything that could be transported safely, sandwiches, omelets with all the vegetables he had still left, cut into triangles and wrapped into grease-proof paper, took all the winter apples he still had stored, fried all the fresh meat he had left, the list went on. And by the time Fili and Kili were done with their bath, he had a generously sized package of food for every dwarf (and Hobbit). These packages Frodo distributed among the dwarves, some of whom some were still hunting for carelessly misplaced items.

That not even Thorin complained, he took as a favorable omen for the beginning of their journey.

When Frodo only had one package left, he went to his pack and put it in. Right after that, he went into the study again, took up his traveling cloak and slipped it on. Then he went to sit on the little bench in front his smial, eyes closed and tried to enjoy the sun.

When after a while only Gloin with a line of ponies appeared, Frodo stood up again and quickly went into the back garden to get a few valerian and balm mint leaves to chew on and calm his nerves, which made him tense, nauseous and his breath short. He took another handful to take with, just to be on the save side. And by the time the rest of the dwarves appeared, Frodo had regained enough control over his nerves that he could function well enough for the dwarves not to notice.

That was at least what he thought, until Oin came over, slapped him on the back carefully a few times and reassuringly squeezed his shoulder for a moment.

Frodo grimaced and asked, pitching his voice intentionally low, after a few seconds.

“Do I look that bad?”

Oin gave him a slight smile and shrugged.

“Laddie, if I wouldn't know my plants, most of these fools would be dead by now.”

He said and vaguely moved his right hand into the direction of the leaves Frodo was still holding.

“Ah … .”

“Ah.” Frodo repeated. Than he gave a sharp half-smile and continued. “Do have no fear Mister Oin, I will not fail to carry out my duties.”

With these words Frodo left Oin sitting in front of Bag-End and joined Thorin, Dwalin and Gloin, who were standing by the Ponies.

“I would like to have a word with you Master Oakenshield. Regarding our travels, lest the night catches up to us outside both the Shire and Bree.”

To these words Thorin graced him a dismissive glance and said in his typical tone of voice that always bordered on angry snapping (that was what it seemed to Frodo anyway). “My people have been traveling that road since before your Grandparents time, Mister Baggins, we know the East Road.”

“I am not saying you don't, Master Oakenshield, but this will be the first time you will have a Hobbit with you, which means that the Bounders will not ensure that you do not carelessly wander off into the Old Forest or – even worse – into the Barrow Downs.” Frodo clenched his fists and thought of the smell of old rot and the song of a man in blue, striding with steady steps and yellow boots into even the darkest places.

“Old, bitter magic, Master Oakenshield.” Frodo continued, thinking of daggers yet buried. “We Hobbits take good care that no-one gets lost on the old battlefields and in the forest. We do not want the attention that comes with old, starving ghouls eating travelers at night right outside our door. Neither do we need the adventurous come and seek thrill, just to get suffocated by entirely to agile trees as they bed themselves to rest in the Old Forest.”

Frodo noticed that all three dwarves had stiffened, but he did not stop speaking.

“The land did not take well to the bloodshed of old. What is left of the armies of dwarves, men and elves is not kind and should not have stayed. Yet, it did and the Hobbits of Buckland have taken care of the unknowing since they have settled at the edge of the Old Forest. So even if you would not believe me, Master Oakenshield, kindly humor me, please.”

Frodo could see Thorin's jaw working under its thick cover of dwarfish beard, but in the end Thorin gave him another sharp nod and strode off quickly into the direction of the front door.

“That seems to become a trend in our conversations.” Frodo thought and stood lost in his thoughts, until Balin came out of his Smial and asked him about his traveling plans and sooner rather than later the dwarves had found all their missing items and they were off and making their way east.

Nothing remarkable happened on the first day of their journey. Only that Gandalf returned to them when they were about to near Bywater. And when they had come about as far as Frogmorton, Frodo realized that he had forgotten all his handkerchiefs and descended into helpless laughter, making the dwarves eye him like he an exceptionally strange life form. When Frodo elaborated on his thoughts to Fili and Kili, who had come to investigate, the company took this as a reason to tease Frodo mercilessly until Gandalf pulled a pack of them out from his cloak and handed them to Frodo with a sly smile. Otherwise nothing interesting happened.

That being said, Frodo was feeling strangely light and calm until they neared Bree.

By the time the company left the town of Bree again, the lightness had sadly left Frodo and this stomach had curled in to a tight ball of anxiety and worry. What would happen if Frodo didn't manage to save the dwarves from the trolls? Could he even? He did not want to hurt any sentiment being, and with the trolls he wasn't sure he could, even if he tried. Yet, loosing any dwarf of the company was not an option.

Two days after leaving Bree, Frodo was at his wits' end and gave up. On the plains of Gorgoroth Frodo had sworn to dear Sam – and to himself – never to be an orc ever again, and yet he could see no other way to save Bilbo's dwarves, than to take up some kind of weapon. A shudder run down his back that had nothing at all to do with the rain that had started as soon as they were nearing Amon Sûl. It couldn't be helped, Frodo wouldn't loose even one of them to his own cowardliness. It was simply unacceptable. Unthinkable.

“Alas.” He thought and began scanning the greenery beside the the road for a tall, green plant. It was early in the year yet, so he had to look closely for rounded, divided leaves with lobed segments. It was an ungrateful task and he knew that he was unlikely to find any. Still, he had no better idea.

Over the course of the following days, every now and again, when he thought he had seen one of the required plants, Frodo dismounted his pony and waded through the mud over to one or the other side of the road and into the vegetation. The first time he had done this, the dwarves had taken notice of his actions but after a few more trips into the greenery they had coined it as a particularity and not even Gandalf took any further notice of Frodo's excursions. The Company including their – “Gray, not blue or any other color, Bilbo! I cannot stop this rain!” – wizard were simply too miserable to pay anything too much attention. And in the end only Thorin had – by the looks of it – taken offense. However, Frodo wasn't quite sure whether it really was anger that Thorin was expressing or if the the scowl on the dwarf's face simply was his default expression. It didn't matter either way, no one stopped him.

Is was ungrateful work looking for green leafs before a green background, however peculiar the plant looked. And in the end, it took Frodo more than a week to find even one. He carefully picked it up with one of his handkerchiefs, roots and all, and then wrapped it securely in a sheet of grease-proof paper. But he wasn't sure if it would be sufficient, so he kept at his search.

That had been a week ago.

The evening after the boys – and poor Thistle – had nearly drowned in a river and given his poor old heart quite a scare, they set up camp near a small stream and like most days Frodo was given the task to rub down the ponies. Now, this was by no means surprising. The dwarves had apparently decided before he had even left his doorstep that Frodo would know nothing about traveling and that rubbing down the ponies was an easy enough task as not to overwork him. If Frodo were truthful with himself, he'd have to confess that he'd been cross with them in the beginning – for assuming. But after a week, he had stopped caring. It was their loss after all.

Thankfully, it had stopped raining the day before and the work was only the tiniest bit ungrateful for it. And only because of the dwarves and not because of the ponies. They were sweethearts, especially Dwalin's pony, Dandelion.

The difference to any other day, however, was that Frodo was interrupted in his after pony-rub-down clean up by a silver spoon dropping onto his head and making him look up sharply.

“What-?!” Frodo exclaimed.

Leaned against a tree across from Frodo Nori was standing, looking like he had always been there. Nori going out of his way to talk to him was a new occurrence and made Frodo feel slightly uncomfortable, because he did not know whatever the thief could want from him. Finding a silver spoon in his bedroll after an enjoyable talk with Ori about knit patterns was one thing, but actually talking to Nori was another. Especially as Nori didn't even make an effort to talk to the other dwarves on most of the days.

“Mister Nori?” Frodo ventured, feeling slightly apprehensive. Nori offered only a sharp, sly smile in response.

“Thank you for the spoon, Mister Nori, but I think I have quite enough spoons to last me the journey now, and by enough I mean I can even spoon one or two goblin eyes out and still have spares, if it should come to that.” Said Frodo mildly as he couldn't quell his need for answering Nori's sly look with a witty remark. And if he gave Nori the permission to keep his silver spoons, so be it. Frodo had no use for them on the road and it would serve as a training exercise to curb his possessiveness. It would be Lobelia's loss in the end, anyway. “Cursed shiny trinkets.”

“Now, Mister Nori, what can I do for you?”

“You have been collecting quite some aconite on your little excursions into the shrubbery.” Nori stated and waited for a reaction, observing Frodo with razor sharp eyes that did not hold little suspicion.

“Ah.”

So someone had noticed. Frodo had been wondering about that.

He looked Nori in the eye and voiced his thoughts. “I have been wondering when you, and here I mean any one of you, would ask about that.” Then Frodo sighed, because he sincerely hoped that the dwarf wouldn't think he was going to poison the company. That would make the situation more than awkward and not to mention quite bothersome.

“Listen, Mister Nori. I have some skill with a sword – dagger – whatever you call a blade my size, but I'm no great warrior. Not like Thorin or Dwalin. Not even like Mister Bofur. I need my opponents to die. Period.” Frodo sighed.

“Naturally, I will need to acquire one, blade that is. But about the aconite, I know what I am doing.” Frodo frowned at the openly calculating look Nori was now giving him. “All hobbits learn about poisonous plants, by Yavanna's green earth! Even if the intention is only to teach hungry fauntlings what not to eat.” Frodo was not going to tell Nori that this was his first time actually handling it.

“And if you still don't trust me:” Frodo continued. “I mean the dwarves of this company no harm.“

Frodo fell quiet for a short while and considered his next words. “This I will swear, hear me Eru Allfather.” A shudder run down his back and Frodo only hoped that Nori understood the severity of what he had just said. But Frodo was only a hobbit, he would be fine. “I hope.”

For a minute, Nori's facial expression failed to change even in the slightest.

But just as Frodo was starting to worry Nori took a knife, about the length of Frodo's forearm, out from somewhere and held it out to Frodo.

“You will need a blade then. Keep it.” Nori waited until Frodo hesitantly reached for it. Then he flashed Frodo a smile and nonchalantly walked back to the camp.

And Frodo, for his part, was left standing with a incredulous expression on his face. Gathering his wits back, Frodo got the impression that he had just witnessed something incredibly rare. Allowing a small grateful smile to flicker over his face, he placed the blade in his pack and returned to his task. “At least until it is needed.”

Later that evening he did not join the dwarves at the fire, but sat alone, as far removed from the light and warmth as he could without his eyesight suffering. He had placed himself at an angle that kept the any casual observer from seeing what he was doing, but still allowed enough light to fall onto the little bowl and the aconite he was working with. Grinding the highly poisonous plant into a paste with a stone, whilst avoiding to get any of it onto his hands and clothes required focus and a lot of patience. Pouring honey from a little flask into the bowl, grinding stem, leaves and roots for a time, until the plant pieces and the honey became one homogeneous mass, adding another piece of the plant, adding a little more honey and a tiny bit of water. And repeat. Whilst working Frodo congratulated himself on the decision to purchase the little flask of honey in Bree. It was not like he would have known how to make a suitably sticky paste to smear thickly onto Mister Nori's blade otherwise. Frodo was not even sure how the antiseptic properties of the honey would react together with the aconite as it was. But – he supposed – the aconite paste he was making would be so potent that it wouldn't matter anyway. He just hoped the honey wouldn't destroy the blade, as he did not think that Mister Nori would take nicely to hearing that.

Loud steps near him pulled him out of the near trance he had worked himself into. Looking up Frodo saw Nori standing near himself, a hand on Kili's shoulder, stopping the youngster from coming near Frodo. Shaking his head and saying something in Khuzdul, Nori directed Kili away and into the direction of his brother. Frodo flashed Nori an unsure smile and went back to his work.

Not too long after that Frodo had added all the aconite he'd collected in to the paste and was done. Thinking for a moment he decided that it would be safest to keep the paste in the honey flask – until it was needed to kill the trolls. He shuddered, appalled by his own thoughts, but still dumped the honey remaining in the flask on to the ground beside him in the same breath. Being very careful not to get anything onto himself, he then poured the paste into the flask. Then he wiped the flask off with a rag and wrapped the exceedingly poisonous flask in a fresh sheet of grease-proof paper. After Frodo was sure that the flask was safely packed away between a second spare set of clothes, he took all the tools he had used to bury them far enough away from the camp for no dwarf to stumble upon it unknowingly. And when Frodo had finished digging he walked back to the small stream that flowed near the camp and walked even a bit further down stream to be on the safe side. Only then he sat down and scrubbed himself down with a small piece of soap, which he had set aside for this purpose. By the time he was done Frodo was shivering and freezing cold and he thought, he might have overdone it with his anti-poison precautions. Whilst putting on the other set of set of spare clothes, he tried to think of what to tell the dwarves, should anyone deem it prudent to ask what Frodo had been doing. He came up blank.

Sighing, Frodo made his way back to the camp.

He turned out to be lucky. Because when he arrived back and sat down, just as Kili tried to ask him what he had been doing, the howl of a warg pierced the night, making the adult dwarves sit up straighter. And Frodo's unintentional shivers gave Fili and Kili the excuse to mess with him. This caused Thorin to snap and stare broodingly out into the night, and Balin to tell the story about the battle of Azanulbizar. The story – and Thorins deeds – were impressive and in the privacy of his own head Frodo was not loath to admit that their very important leader might have a reason and a right to be so very pompously brooding. Still, that did not give him the right to be an arse. Contemplating the possible consequences for a moment, Frodo dug deep into the memories of his body and began to speak, sensing a way to get out of explaining his previous activities.

“My life was not as hard by far, but I saw mother getting killed by wargs, you know.” Bilbo's mother, not his, but he could vividly remember it, so he supposed it was not really a lie. Anyway, who was he to say that his two hard years were worse than Thorin's 171 hard years. “30 years ago, there was an exceptionally hard and long winter. The Brandywine froze over, allowing white wolves, wargs and orcs to cross and make their way into the Shire. And as hobbits are a peaceful folk, it was – so to say – free for the taking.”

Looking Balin in the eye Frodo stood up and then turned away to bed himself down onto this bedroll, not realizing that most of the dwarves were starring at him.

This story had, however, no immediate impact on anyone and when the sun rose the next morning, it brought another rainy day with an overhung sky and the departure of their wizard, courtesy of an argument with one Thorin Oakenshield. The realization that came with the sight of an angry Gandalf departing hit Frodo like a fist into the stomach and nearly caused him to have an anxiety attack. Sitting on his pony, he dug through his pack for the last of his now dried valerian leaves.

But even under the influence of the valerian, over the course of the day Frodo had to catch himself several times and make an effort to stop himself from digging his fingers into the fabric over his shoulder. By the time they made camp, he was surprised that he had not worn a hole into the fabric of his shirt. His remaining anxiety also drove Frodo to make short work out of his task to rub down the ponies and caused him to sit down just out of their reach, take out his blade from his pack and to smear part of his aconite poison paste onto it. Then he put the aconite paste into his trouser pocket, just in case.

The time it took for the dwarves to try and make a fire – which not even Oin or Gloin could manage – and for Bombur to make them a cold meal, felt for Frodo like a lifetime. And when he had made the error to look down at his hands, they had been shaking like he had been sitting in the snow for hours. Frodo had not looked down again after that.

By the time Bofur pressed two bowls into his hands and told him to go and bring Fili and Kili their meal, he nearly gave a sob of relief. There was so much that could go wrong, but by now Frodo's brain had provided him with multiple gruesome ways in which all of the dwarves could die that he felt relieved to be able to get it over and done with. Not the dying dwarf part, no, but the troll part. Frodo had made plans after all.

When Frodo found the lads at last, they were both frowning at the ponies and did not pay him any mind.

To get their attention he asked them “Whats the matter, lads?” and pressed the bowls into their chests, so that they took hold of them.

“We are supposed to be looking out for the ponies.” Kili began and Fili finished the sentence. “Only we've encountered a … slight problem.”

“We had sixteen.” Kili continued.

“And now there are fourteen.” This had been Fili again.

Frodo's heart was beating in his throat, but he was grateful the lads were still standing beside him, clutching their food and had not, like Bilbo had always told him, moved into the direction of the trolls.

“Daisy and Bungo are missing.” Said Kili sounding slightly helpless. “Should we tell uncle?”

“Noo. Lets not worry him.” Fili shot his brother down. “After all we have got a burglar with us.”

Upon which Frodo responded, shighing “Alright, now it is the burglar's turn. In the mean time, lads, go back to the camp. I will hoot twice like a barn-owl and once like a screech-owl, should I need help. Do not come before that.”

And with that Frodo was off, walking primly towards where he assumed the trolls were moving absolutely quietly, and not looking back.

After a few moments he saw a red light and adjusted his path to walk right up to it. What he saw then was the following: The expected trolls were sitting around a fire roasting mutton and drinking out of jugs.

Sending a quick prayer to everyone that would listen, Frodo sprinted to the mug closest to him and dripped some of the aconite paste (which he had diluted with water to make it more fluid) into the mug.

“Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimely, if it don't look like mutton again tomorrer.” Complained one of the trolls, drawing the eyes of the other two to him as he gnawed on a piece of said mutton.

This allowed Frodo to sprint over to the other two mugs and poison them also. Frodo's mind had become cold by now, as if all emotion had been pushed aside until the danger was over and his hand poisoning the troll's drinks had been dead steady. Pun intended.

“Never a blinking bit of manflesh have we had for long enough. What the 'ell William was thinkin' of to bring us into these parts at all, beats me – and the drink runnin' short, what's more.” The second said and took a deep pull from his poisoned mug, elbowing the third troll, identified as William.

Frodo took the chance to drip his poison onto the mutton the trolls were currently eating. “Shut yer mouth! Yer can't expect folk to stop here for ever just to be et by you and Bert. You've et a village and a half between yer, since we come down from the mountains. How much more d'yer want? And time's been up our way, when yer'd have said 'thank yer Bill' for a nice bit o' fat valley mutton like what this is.”

The banter continued and Bert devoured a generous portion of his poisoned mutton. Frodo prayed that the aconite would have an effect on the trolls and retreated into the shrubbery to wait. After about 30 minutes had gone by Bert and the yet unnamed troll became noticeably sluggish and looked a bit sick. Bill for his part had been so focused on the ungratefulness of the others that he had not stopped complaining to take a drink or to eat from his mutton.

This was when it happened. Out of the corners of his eyes Frodo noticed a movement that had not quite been hidden by the greenery around the troll camp and upon turning saw Kili creep along the edges of the firelight. Flinching Frodo felt like someone had emptied a bucket of ice into his stomach, Kili was entirely to close to the fire. Botheration.

“Oh, Kili. No, no, no! Don't-. ” Frodo thought just as William made to turn into Kili's direction.

“Desperate times, desperate measures. Better me than the lad.” Frodo decided springing up from his hiding place and made a grab for William's purse, causing it to squeek “Ere, 'oo are you?” And Bill to stop turning to where Kili was hiding. The troll's hand shot out and grabbed Frodo by the neck. One hand grabbing onto the troll's huge one, he pulled himself up a little to breathe and used his other hand to loosen his blade in its sheath.

“Blimey, Bert, look what I've chopped!” He said, keeping his eyes on Frodo. This way he missed his two companions trying to rise and fail to do so. William only heard their faint “Whassit?”

“What are yer?” He asked and did not turn to his fallen companions.

Frodo for his part did not intend to answer, Bilbo might have had reason to try and talk his way out, but Frodo had not been caught because of his own carelessness, he had been caught intentionally. His refusal to answer caused William to shake him thoroughly, making his teeth chatter painfully. Bill turned to his companions, stopped short and unintentionally loosened his grip at the sight of his fallen companions. Frodo pulled his blade out of his sheath.

At the same time Frodo heard a mighty battle cry and and up came the dwarves from their hiding spots in the bushes. Even Thorin himself jumped towards the fire, caught up a big branch that was all on fire on one end and smashed it into William's back.

With the strength of desperation Frodo threw himself forward then, escaped Bill's grip and was able to ram his poisoned blade into Bill's eye out of pure luck. The troll howled, stumbled from Thorin's hit and dropped him, driving the air from his lungs. Where they had hit the earth, his ribs arched something fierce so Frodo made no attempt to stand back up. Lying prone, he was rendered incapable to do anything but watch Bill stomp around holding one hand to his injured eye – blood running out from between his fingers – and using the other to swat at the dwarves that were doing their best to take him down.

All in all the fight took only about ten minutes. But that was only because by the end of it the huge troll had become so sluggish that he had been an easy prey for Frodo's thirteen dwarves to take down and Frodo had learned that quick movement allowed aconite to spread quicker through a body than it would otherwise.

And this is what happened to William, Bert and Tom. The end of the three trolls. This time there would be no troll statues to come upon unknowingly. And neither would the dawn have the chance to take them, for the aconite had already done it's job.

“The aconite and you.” At this thought Frodo's mind decided that it was time to allow his emotions back into his being, taking a little less than a second to rob him of his consciousness and pull it into a void of blackness.

Chapter Text

The the first thing that came to Frodo, when his conscious slowly returned to him were the names of the trolls – even the name of the one that had stayed unnamed before. Bilbo had told him often enough, but he had forgotten. “William, Bert and Tom.”

Frodo continued to let his thoughts drift a bit, until the next thing came back to him and he shot up as if someone had set his foot-hair on fire.

“The food! Don't- ” He gasped.

“Eat the food. Don't drink the beer.” A voice to Frodo's right said, barely registering in Frodo's brain due to his frantic need to re-orient himself and keep everyone away from the troll's meal.

“Nori told us Master Baggins. No one touched the food or drink. My brother, however, did bring your knife. And told us not to touch that either, while he was at it.”

A heavy dwarfish hand landed on Frodo's shoulder and stopped him with careful, but irresistible force.

Blinking a few times against the light of the rising sun, Frodo realized only now that he was not alone and that someone had apparently moved him. Again. Looking around Frodo could make out the lads, Oin, and Ori sitting in a loose half-circle around the bedding he was apparently resting on. He blinked a few more times for good measure, and followed the hand on his shoulder with his eyes until he realized that it was Mister Dori's hand that kept him seated.

They had not only picked him up and checked him over, no, they were even sitting around him, keeping watch. Wrapping his head around the idea that they had cared – about his health or about what he could do? – enough to not only help him, but also to make him comfortable. Frodo wondered whether the keeping watch part was a good or a bad thing.

“Then again, they brought your knife.” He thought as his brain followed his body, which had been pressured into a more relaxed state by Mister Dori's delicate violence.

Instead of following this train of thought and work himself into a anxiety attack again, Frodo made himself look at the dwarves around him. Dori looked as pristine as ever and Oin looked annoyed. Ori seemed fine but for a bruise on his cheek. Fili and Kili looked rumpled. “All in all - ” Frodo thought “this could have gone worse. Much worse. None of them seem like they were hurt seriously. Even if Kili- … Kili.” Frodo stopped in his observation and could not help but give Kili a Look, as he remembered the dwarf creeping – more like bumbling – along the edges of the trolls' fire.

“Fools like him should follow their orders, how dare he-”

Frodo felt that cruel and sick anger bubble up from the darkest depts of his soul, but then stopped himself. And cursed the influence the Ring still had on him. The only problem was that these days Frodo was not even sure if it actually was the Ring's influence, or if he was just a bad person.“No. Stop right there, Frodo Baggins. How dare I? Who am I to judge other people over stupid things like this. The lad is not good at being subtle, what about it?”

The Look he had given – was giving? – Kili however must have been rather sharp, as Frodo noticed the lad had straightened up and was doing his uttermost best to look apologetic.

To keep himself from frowning at the lads – no, boys – close proximity to other people was a curious thing. Interesting … things tended to happen. Like picking up other peoples speech patterns. His thoughts going off on a tangent, Frodo closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hands. This was better, completely unrelated to the situation at hand, but infinitely preferable over this previous train of thoughts.

And somewhere between then and now Mister Dori had apparently left.

Frodo scrubbed harder.

“Easy there, laddie!” Oin's loud voice stopped him after a few seconds. “You have taken quite a fall and your back is nicely plum colored.” Oin continued and managed to convey to Frodo in only a few words, just how much he disproved of this state of things.

Frodo stopped scrubbing.

“M-Mister … “ Kili, who had shuffled closer in the meantime and was now sitting a little to Frodo's left, stumbled over his words and had to clear his throat to try again. “Mister Baggins-.”

“O-oh. He seems to have taken this rather badly.” Frodo realized and sighed. “Yet again.”

“It's Bilbo.” He stated.

Which apparently did not help Kili, as the boy just made a weird gasping noise and fell silent.

“What my dear brother so eloquently tied to tell you, Mister Bilbo, was that we are sorry for sending you to out to the trolls alone.” Came Fili to his brother's rescue, not sounding much better than Kili, despite his seemingly eloquent wording. Or pointed wording. Witty wording? An alliteration, that seemed a better fit.

After taking a moment to actually think about what Fili had said, a slightly hysterical laugh forced it's way up Frodo's throat and out of his mouth. The movement made his head hurt and Frodo forced himself to stop rather quickly.

“It is not like you boys could have made me do anything I did not agree to do.” Frodo said instead. “It's not like I would have let the company try to fight these troublesome trolls and then get eaten.”

Frodo smiled at the dwarves. “Three troublesome trolls.” he thought and gave a mental laugh, which turned into self-hatred after he realized that he was making light of killing three people.

He frowned at himself, thinking that this did not sound or even feel like himself at all. Only he did not have anyone else to be.

Thinking. Thinking about it, he felt a bit woozy.

Frowning even more, he raised his hand and run it through his hair, to feel for any new bumps on his head.

“Aye Master Baggins, you also have hit your head.” Came Oin's disapproving voice. “It took you half the morning to come back around again, which is quite worrying. Refrain from sleeping until this evening, will you?”

This didn't sound like a suggestion to Frodo, even if technically Oin had asked.

“I will do my best, Mister Oin.”

“See that you do, but the lads will keep an eye on you anyway, as they were the ones to send you off to fight the trolls.”

This rubbed Frodo quite the wrong way and Frodo blamed that on his apparent concussion. It was not like he hadn't just told the boys that it had not been their fault.

“I will be quite fine, Mister Oin. It is not like I cannot handle myself, I have, after all, killed two and a half trolls.” Frodo realized that his snapping at Mister Oin was being spiteful and not only a bit irrational, but frankly he could not stop himself. “Which is more than you can say about yourselves.”

“It would have even been the full three trolls, if it had not been for you dwarves.” Regardless of his state of mind, this last part was nothing he would allow himself to say out loud. He liked them after all. Mostly. Their very important leader was still a big MAYBE.

It spoke for Oin's character that he took the insult without even blinking.

“Aye, Master Baggins. And we all owe you an apology for this, I believe.” Oin looked Frodo in the eye. “The decision for the lads to look after you, however, has been made by Thorin and we will have to follow.”

The old dwarf sighed and put his hand on his knees, pushing himself up, flashing Frodo a crooked smile.

This drained the anger thoroughly from Frodo's mind and he felt suddenly ashamed of himself for his inability to keep his emotions in check.

“I am sorry, Mister Oin. That was uncalled for, having a concussion is no excuse.” Frodo said, making the dwarf shake his head and grater his medicine bag. Oinments.

“Call me Oin, Mister Baggins.” With these words Oin left, presumably in search of his brother.

Watching Oin leave, Frodo closed his eyes and futilely wished to be able to ask Gimli for guidance concerning dwarven behavior. Gimli certainly wouldn't have minded and Frodo felt like he dearly needed all help he could get. With him continuously alternating between crippling anxiety and unreasonable anger. And his unintentional talent for offending dwarves.

“I have to apologize to you as well.” Frodo addressed the remaining dwarves.

“It's fine.” Ori spoke up for the first time and offered Frodo a tentative smile.”You should put away your knife though.” Fili and Kili nodded along in the background.

Carefully moving to where Nori had left his knife, Frodo picked up the already clean, but still slightly sticky blade and put it back into its sheath. “Nori must have cleaned the blood away. I just hope I have not broken some cultural rule by putting honey onto the blade. They, after all, say to not put iron spoons into honey and I have offended enough people already.”

And for a moment, Frodo could not help but feel very alone, even through the boys and Ori were sitting mere meters from him. “What wouldn't I do for dear Sam's reassuring presence or Gimli's clever advice. But then again, I miss all of them, even more so as I seem to screw up any positive relationship with these dwarves.”

He took a deep breath and lifted his chin.

“Is honey bad for blades?” Frodo ventured carefully, trying to make the three to talk to him and looked at them questioningly. This at least would help him to figure out if he needed to apologize to Mister Nori.

“I am trying to figure out if I have to apologize to Mister Nori.”

It was Ori, who surprisingly began to laugh and not Fili and Kili.

“It's fine Mister Bilbo, I'm sure my brother appreciates the idea of your exceedingly poisonous honey paste.” He smiled widely at Frodo and then had to laugh even louder at Frodo's confused look. “My brother has been using poison for a long time and not even he has managed to poison three trolls and kill two of them. The bit of honey and aconite on that blade will not make him angry, I'm sure!”

Ori patted his foot reassuringly and then added quietly. “Please don't tell Dori that I know about the poison, he will be very angry with Nori for teaching me.”

Frodo shared a look with Fili and Kili, and Fili tapped Ori on the shoulder so that the young dwarf looked up from where he had started to fidget with his mitts. Frodo gave Ori a sly smile and saw the boys mimic him.

“We won't.”

“Now.” Frodo said and moved to slowly stand up. “Two things, boys. First call me Bilbo. No 'Mister' or any of that nonsense. And second, we are going to see about that troll hoard and the others now. I recon I have been out for a while and I want to see if our wizard has come back.” He reckoned that the company had found the key and the hoard by now and that Mister Bofur, Nori and Gloin were making their “long-term deposit”.

Sniffing the air, Frodo moved carefully into the direction he thought he could detect a faint troll odor from and Kili, Fili and Ori followed behind him.

Behind the next group of trees Frodo found Mister Bombur, who had at last managed to make a fire and set up a his cooking tools to make breakfast or lunch. Looking at the ingredients Bombur was using, Frodo figured that the dwarves had spurned the troll's dubious food stores in favor of their own provisions. Giving a quiet greeting to Mister Bombur and them passing the dwarf by, he saw the dwarf smile back at him and suddenly felt grateful for Bombur's calm and accepting personality.

“I am looking for Master Thorin and Gandalf, if he has turned up yet, could you point us into the right direction Mister Bombur?”

“Just go up the hill to your right and then follow your nose, Master Baggins. Its quite bad up there and I had to come here to cook, lest all of us get sick trying to eat and stomach the smell at the same time.” Bombur responded and pointed his cooking spoon to his left.

“We will. Mister Bombur, thank you.”

Frodo smiled at Bombur and turned right, walking with purpose and sniffing the air. Behind him the boys got into a short scuffle, causing Ori to speed up a little and pull even with Frodo.

When he and Ori were about halfway up the hill Bombur had mentioned Fili spoke up and caused Frodo to slow to a stop.

“Bilbo … we would ask you not to take Uncles harsh words to heart.”

Frodo frowned and tied to remember if the exceedingly important Thorin Oakenshield had recently said anything he should have felt insulted by.

“Master Oakenshield's words, Fili?”

“You probably saved us from something very much worse than a few bruises, poisoning the trolls like you did, Bilbo. But our uncle is responsible for the whole Company, health and everything, and you came very close to being killed by that troll.”

When Frodo made to assure Fili that the most definitely had NOT been in any danger of being killed, Fili stopped him with a hand gesture.

“Please Bilbo, hear us out.” Kili asked and Fili continued in a low voice.

“Uncle, you see, does not get scared. He gets angry. We did not understand this for the longest time when we were younger, but we figured it out eventually. The support beams of one of the main shafts in the mines back in Ered Luin caved in about ten years ago and the whole thing collapsed and buried a great number of miners under it. And Uncle is the leader of our people, so when he shows so much as a little fear people panic. We saw a glimpse of it back then. So what we ask you is this, Bilbo. Please do not take Uncle's words to heart when we go to meet him now. He most certainly knows it wasn't your fault or he wouldn't have send us to make sure you are ok, but he will still be angry with you, you were in grave danger. Please do not hold the harsh words he will have with you against him. He means well.”

Fili and Kili looked at him with such an earnest expression that he couldn't but agree.

Behind him Ori made a low humming sound.

“Now you have gone and done it, Frodo Baggins.” Frodo berated himself quietly, as they continued their way up to the troll hoard. “As you had the displeasure to learn in the last few weeks, Frodo Baggins, your temper does get the better of you even unprovoked, what makes you think you can be cordial to one Thorin Oakenshield when even your being in his general vicinity seems to make him angry?”

Worrying as he went, Frodo played with the tip of his not-missing-finger until another one of his thoughts that sounded oddly like Uncle Bilbo stopped him. “You promised and that's that, too. Do not make promises you do not mean to keep.”

“I will endeavor to give it my very best.”

A bit later they were in sight of the troll hoard and Ori went off to his oldest brother, promptly sitting down and scribbling in his book.

Frodo for his part decided to go to talk to Mister Bifur first, before putting a strain on his already volatile temper and talking to Thorin Oakenshield. Bifur never creased to surprise everyone but his cousins and if Frodo was truthful he had yet to give up his hope of learning Khuzdul.

“Mister Bifur, you are not interested in what is in that awfully repugnant cave?” Frodo motioned for the troll hoard. Bifur chuckled loudly, shook his head and then gave what Frodo assumed to be a quick greeting in Khuzdul. He then made a few hand motions and then pointed at Frodo and touched his own head for clarification.

“How my head is?” Frodo asked as he tried to commit the motions to memory and make room in his head to store it.

Bifur shook his head and repeated his hand motions, this time touching his back.

“I see. Mi- … Oin said my back is a nice plum color and I have a concussion, but I'll be fine in a bit.” Frodo said, touched by Bifur's concern, and Bifur seemed pleased with this response.

Then Bifur said something else with his hands and gave Frodo a sly look.

“He says it is time to go meet our leader.” Bofur translated, appearing beside Bifur, apparently finished with making his long-term deposit.

Frodo looked at Bifur for confirmation and Bifur repeated himself.

“Aaah, I fear you got me. I was trying to put off talking to Master Oakenshield.” Frodo confessed a bit ruefully and gave Bifur and Bofur a small smile. “I have been warned by someone with experience that I will be getting a talking-to for getting caught by the trolls.”

Bifur clapped him on the shoulder lightly and gave him a careful push into the direction of the troll hoard, taking care not to come into contact with any of Frodo's bruises. Bofur just laughed, as did Kili and Fili somewhere behind them.

“You have walked across Middle Earth, Frodo Baggins, which should be immeasurably more of an inconvenience than getting shouted at by a very important dwarf. Stop being ridiculous.” Frodo grumbled at himself for trying to put off meeting Master Oakenshield.

Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin Frodo resolved to treat this like a visit at Lobelia and Otho's for tea, something that - while being unavoidable - could be over quick or slow, depending on his own actions. Resolving not to back talk to their leader, Frodo stepped through the door into the relative darkness of Bilbo's fabled troll hoard.

The first thing he noticed even before his eyes adjusted, was that Gandalf had apparently returned to them and was currently having an argument with Thorin about elven swords.

“Glamdring and Orcrist, if I remember correctly. I wonder if they have seen the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.”

“Master Oakenshield, Gandalf.” Frodo greeted them after they had finished their argument, causing them both to look at him.

The perpetual thunder cloud over Thorins's very important head seemed to get even darker as the dwarf's eyes narrowed at Frodo, and Thorin moved to fully face him.

“Burglar.” And with only this one word Thorin's face and voice had both turned entirely expressionless.

“I would have a word with the halfling in private, Gandalf.” Thorin addressed Gandalf, who picked up Glamdring and then left the hoard after frowning at Thorin for a few seconds.

“What were you doing, trying to take on three trolls, burglar?” Thorin's voice, while still entirely flat, had the same ominous rumble that could be heard before the earth shook during an earthquake.

Biting back a snippy response, Frodo kept his answer relatively short. “The job you hired me for.”

“I cannot remember having told Balin to put a clause in your contract that states anything about you having to die stupidly!” The ominous rumble in Thorin's voice rose to a roar.

“I was poisoning them, so the company would not have to fight, Master Oakensield, not foolishly trying to steal their wallets.” Frodo could feel his good intentions of giving no back talk waving at him as they passed him by and vanished into thin air. Watching Thorin's eyes narrow even further, Frodo braced for an explosion and also send a mental apology to Bilbo for his words.

“You were hired to find the Arkenstone, not to poison trolls!” Thorin snapped at him, his left fist hitting the cave wall beside the door in an attempt to keep a hold on his slipping temper.

Trying to hide a flinch at the sudden noise, Frodo felt his own temper rise.

“What you hired me for, is to face and steal from a dragon, Master Oakenshield. One would think that facing a few trolls is negatable, considering this.” Frodo was aware that he now was baiting Thorin but could not help himself at the same time. If this confrontation showed anything, it was that their personalities seemed to mix even worse than Bilbo and Thorin's the first time around.

“You will leave a warrior's job to the warriors in this company next time, halfling. I will not have you run off to your death like this, you will follow my orders as the leader of this company and the holder of your contract from now on. Is this understood?!”

Frodo looked him dead in the eye and couldn't help but respond with icy politeness and a last jab at the dwarf. “It is, Master Oakenshield. You will, however, have to make note that I will not suffer anymore of these manish slurs you are using to refer to my person. Hobbits are not half anything.”

Watching the emotion of something flicker in Thorin's eyes, Frodo thought that he might have been petty. Then it was like seeing shutters close, Frodo thought as he watched Thorin's expression become aloof and cold.

“Noted, Master Baggins.” With these three words, Thorin left Frodo standing alone in the troll hoard.

“That is not good.” Thorin's voice had sounded extremely frigid. Frodo sighed and only now acknowledged the tight ball of anxiety in his belly that made his knees shake uncomfortably. Sometimes Frodo really wished that he was a better person or at least had a tighter hold on this temper. Master Oakenshield had said that he cared about Frodo's well being enough to ensure that he would not be killed if the dwarf could help it. It wasn't like he wasn't aware of this or that he intentionally ignored the good intentions behind the dwarfs harsh words, but there was something about Thorin that rubbed Frodo the wrong way.

The shaking in his legs threatened topple him and Frodo had to reach for the cave wall and take a few deep breaths despite the despicable odor to regain control over his body.

For a few minutes Frodo stood quietly, fighting his mind and trying to figure out what had caused him to be in such a state. In the end, he came to no satisfying answer. Pushing himself form the wall, he left the cave. Outside he had to stop again for a few seconds to let his eyes adjust. To his left Fili and Kili stood not too far from the cave, looking awkward and uncomfortable. Dwalin was with them.

“I am sorry, boys.” Frodo sighed. “Again.”

Both of them mumbled something he could not understand, looking even more uncomfortable, clearly having heard his argument with Master Oakenshield. But Dwalin saved them from really having to answer anything by addressing Frodo, his voice cutting through their mumble.

“Good.” Frodo thought. “They could only have lost, regardless of what they would have answered. I don't want to make them having to choose Master Oakenshield over me.”

“Please forgive me Mister Dwalin, I was lost in thought.”

“I said you will be taking sword lessons, Master Baggins. Can't have you hacking at enemies with that little knife of yours, you will eventually poke your own eye out.” Behind Dwalin the boys retreated hastily, relieved.

“That is reasonable, Mister Dwalin, I think I can use all help I can get.” Frodo agreed and then realized that he had completely forgotten about Sting.

“But I … I … uh, seem to be missing a suitable sword.”

“How have I forgotten about Sting?” He would have to go back for it.

While he was wondering, Dwalin pulled something out of his belt and held it out to Frodo. “Found it in the troll hoard, even if it's an elven tooth-pick it seems to be your size.”

Frodo looked at the blade Dwalin held out to him and nearly gaped at the warrior when he recognized Sting. History had a strange way of repeating itself even without Frodo actively trying to keep the events as close as possible to what Bilbo had told him.

Taking the sword with slightly trembling hands, Frodo thanked Dwalin kindly.

“Don't thank me yet.” Dwalin grumbled. “You will curse me soon enough when you are sore from training. I will see you in a few days for your first lesson, familiarize yourself with that tooth-pick in the meantime.”

With that Dwalin started to move into the direction Thorin must have left into but stopped again after a few steps.

“You did good with the trolls, Master Baggins. Just take better care of yourself.” He said in the gruffest voice Frodo had heard from him yet and then left without looking back at Frodo.

Frodo for his part was left starring after Dwalin in amazement. He had not only been at odds with Dwalin's best friend and king from the minute they had met – no! – he had also just gotten into an argument with said king that had ended with Master Oakenshield storming off. And Dwalin had still told him he had done good and that he was worried for Frodo's safety. For what Frodo understood about Dwalin that was as good as the dwarf declaring him a friend.

“Dear me, if Bilbo knew about this he would tan my hide for behaving like a spoiled faunt.”

Either Frodo had lost all his understanding of other people's behavior or he really needed to reevaluate how he saw Bilbo's dwarves. They continued to surprise him with their kindness and two of them had just offered him their friendship – or something as good as – even as he had insulted them or their king. For a race that was said to be particularly mistrustful of all other races it raised questions. One of them being, if they were trying very hard to be kind to him. And another, if public knowledge was wrong. Again.

“Figures. I really should know better than to listen to so-called 'public knowledge' by now.”

This realization made him feel even worse about his argument with Master Oakenshield and Frodo resolved to apologize as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

“Impressive.”

Frodo jumped at the voice that came from somewhere behind him. Turning, Frodo realized that Mister Nori had once again gotten the better of him.

“Mister Nori?” Frodo ventured carefully, trying to gauge whether he had offended Nori somehow and unsure about what in the heavens Nori found to be 'impressive'.

He just hoped it was not his unfortunate skill of putting Master Oakenshield to flight. So to say. That would be … unfortunate.

It seemed, however, as if Ori had been right with his previous assessment. Nori did not seem angry at all but slightly amused instead. Giving Frodo a quick, sharp grin Nori merely waited for Frodo to continue.

“Thank you.” Frodo said, because this was safe. “For the knife, I mean. And for warning everyone and cleaning the knife you gave me and returning it.” He elaborated not very eloquently.

Nori only barred his teeth at him in what Frodo hoped was just a very, very toothy grin. Then he repeated himself.

“Impressive.”

Then Mister Nori moved quick as a snake and grabbed his shoulder with one hand, stopping Frodo from retreating with a very much rougher version of that delicate violence Dori had used on him earlier as he stepped into Frodo's personal space. His teeth still barred at Frodo, he pressed his fingers into Frodo's shoulder a bit harder, causing Frodo to straighten and lift his chin defiantly again.

Then Nori suddenly let go of his shoulder and started to laugh, a rumbling, mirthful laughter that came straight from his belly.

“You've got a spine Master Baggins. Killing three trolls with nothing but a slow-acting honey-aconite mixture and a knife you do not know how to use. Very impressive, indeed. Maybe a bit stupid also, but who am I to judge. I've done my share of stupid and daring things.”

Now completely confused about what the dwarf was trying to do, Frodo just starred at Mister Nori and then blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Bilbo.”

“Hah?”

“My name is Bilbo, not Master Baggins.”

Frodo repeated himself as he saw a chance to make another friend, despite of his confusion and Mister Nori's rough handling. When he had started to think of the dwarves as friends, he did not know, but it seemed Bilbo's dwarves were slowly but steadily creasing to be just Bilbo's dwarves. “It must have been sometime this morning. Maybe the hit on my head is at fault.”

The toothy grin returned to Mister Nori's face.

“Nori it is then to you. And for all it is worth, I am grateful to know you at my back even if some of the others have yet to see your worth.”

Nori grabbed him by the shoulder again.

“You should, rest now. Our esteemed leader will have us leave before dawn tomorrow to make up for the time we've lost today.”

With these words, the dwarf walked him back to where Bombur was preparing their meal, forcefully.

Later on Frodo could not remember what else had happened on this day, as the excitement and the pain from his bruises caught up with him. But what he most certainly remembered was that Master Oakenshield made them leave very, very early the next morning. And luckily for Frodo, the next few days proved to be quite uneventful. His bruises had time to fade a bit and he got the chance for a few clever conversations with Gandalf, whose spirits had been much improved by his time alone. So, the days after their meeting with the trolls were spent mainly riding. Traveling. And Frodo thought it was a nice change that he had for once the chance to travel the east road without some servant of Sauron chasing after him. He even had time to read a few pages in his book about the Union of Maedhros. Sindarin, Quenya and all. It was a big improvement to the first time he had traveled east and yet, he could not help but get the feeling that he was forgetting something.

Chapter Text

Days and days after their encounter with the trolls, their rations had gotten smaller and soon their ponies had more to eat then they – and that was even with what they had gotten from the troll hoard. Frodo spend his days riding alongside the company, keeping up his habit of collecting aconite. He also spoke with Gandalf whenever the opportunity presented itself. While he had been feeling rather cross with his old friend, he made sure not to distance himself from him. Frodo wouldn’t let these ugly feelings, he carried around with himself be the cause to loose a very dear friend. Additionally, it seemed like Dwalin had decided that the hour between them stopping to make camp and dinner was to be practice time for Frodo's sword skills. Which – to be truthful – he proceeded to unintentionally fail every evening. It wasn't that he was hopeless and he even had a solid foundation in what Aragorn and Boromir had thought him, but it was like his subconsciousness would not allow him to build up anymore sword skills than he already had.

As they continued to go east, they started to camp under the stars more often and the trees that had been plentiful in the lowlands became less and less. And then Frodo woke up one morning, wiped the drew from his face and clothes and raised his head, only to see the white tops of the Misty Mountains in the distance and shuddered involuntarily. They probably could reach their foothills within a day's journey if they really tried, he thought. It felt to him as if they were soon to hear the golden chime of little bells that Glorfindel decorated his bridle with – that was at least until Frodo remembered that he was mixing memory with reality. There would be no elf lord coming to meet them this time. And hopefully there wasn't anything hunting them either.

By the time they were nearing Rivendell Gandalf and Thorin had had another huge row about whether or not to visit the last Homely House, but the lack of provisions and the snow glittering on the Misty Mountains had left Thorin with no choice but to concede victory to the old wizard. This, however, did not stop Thorin from scoffing at Gandalf when the old wizard had said something about not missing the road and being expected.

On the same day as Gandalf and Thorin’s row, they stopped for a little break in the only little valley they had been able to find. Sitting under a few gnarled trees after having taken care of the ponies, seeking shelter from the wind. In the recent days Frodo had made an effort to get to know the rest of the company that had yet to offer him their name and the one to get to know the easiest had been Gloin. Probably due to Frodo's own sentimentality. One evening when he had seen Gloin look at that little medallion, Frodo had plopped down near Gloin and tired to put into words how much he missed his cousins (and dear Sam and Bilbo and Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas and even Boromir). The cousins being Merry and Pippin – of course – that were not even born yet, but he missed them all the same and for once that helpless feeling had actually proven to be helpful. Aimlessly talking and mulling things over as he told Gloin the first things about Merry and Pippin that came to mind, he had realized that all of the dwarfs cared very much about family.

So by now Gloin, who was currently sitting beside Frodo talking animatedly, would come to talk to Frodo whenever he felt the need to talk about his family. And Frodo was sitting on a stone, listening to Gloin telling stories about his wife and his son, making appropriate noises at the right times and responding with stories about Merry and Pippin. Internally, Frodo also was very amused with all the little stories Gloin told him about Gimli. It was really a shame that he would never get the chance to tease his friend with them, but Frodo had resigned himself to the fact that he would not see any of his old friends ever again and if he did, it would be as Bilbo and not be quite the same as it had been. But then again, he wasn't and wouldn’t be the same either.

His more or less dark thoughts, however, were stopped by Thorin's calling for them to get going again.

“Thank you, for taking the time to share family stories with me, Master Gloin.” Frodo thanked Gloin and jumped off the stone he had been sitting on to gather his pack and make his way over to his pony. “You may not think this of me, but I – like every hobbit – am very fond of my family. And I have recently had very little chance to talk about them. Thank you.”

“Even if I happen to like some of them a bit more than others.” he added silently and thought of his Sackville relations.

“No, thank you, Master Baggins.” Gloin responded with a kind smile. “These louts rarely give me any chance to talk about my beautiful wife and my son.” He vaguely gestured into the direction of the other dwarves, who were about done packing back up. Then he took his own pack and stood up. “I best get-”

What Gloin was going to do however Frodo did not hear, as the words were drowned by a shout and the sound of a sled pulled by … were these rabbits?! – bouncing over the crest of the hill and coming to a stop right in front of Frodo.

Backing up a bit, Frodo frowned and tried to remember if Uncle Bilbo had ever mentioned something like this and came up blank. He would have thought he would remember a rabbit sled. Behind him a number of the company cautiously stepped closer, hands on their weapons.

“That is strange.”

But Frodo didn't have to wonder long, as Gandalf came over from the other side of the trees, frowning at the old man that still stood on his sled.

“Radagast.” Gandalf stated and Frodo remembered. “He is a member of my order.”

Bilbo had also mentioned Radagast the Brown, but he had never said more than a few words about him. Which explained why Frodo did not really remember him.

“Not that I can fault Bilbo for that.” Frodo mused as he stepped closer again and bend down to pet one of the rabbits. “I would think I had eaten the wrong kind of mushrooms, had Gandalf not acknowledged him. Not even faunts would have believed in a rabbit sled.”

The wizard himself didn't look too remarkable, Frodo thought. He was a bit rumpled and there was a feather on his hat along with a stick insect on the brim, but he had the same eyes Gandalf had. They were kinder, sure, but they held the same knowledge and were just as sharp.

“Greetings Masters Dwarves, Master Hobbit.” Radagast greeted the company and then turned to Gandalf, taking him by the arm and leading him out of earshot. “I have been looking for you, Gandalf. And I must speak to you posthaste, there is something terribly wrong -.”

The company stood in silence for a few seconds, befuddled by the situation.

“Do we … wait for them?” ventured Kili eventually, looking uncertainly at his uncle.

Thorin threw another look into the direction of the wizards and frowned, seemingly undecided about what to do. Then he sighed, sounding tiered.

“Get your packs and be ready to leave at once, should it become necessary.”

There was a bit of shuffling, but soon everyone had gotten their packs ready leaving themselves to stand around looking a bit lost, while the wizards continued to talk. That was at least until there came a shout from Thorin, who had been keeping watch.

“Something’s coming!”

And no sooner than Thorin had shouted, he was attacked by a warg. Thorin dodged the beast’s attempt to tear out his throat, let the tip of his new sword sink to follow his movement and bought it up again over his shoulder to use the added force and bury Orcrist in the skull of the beast. Then Dwalin and Kili reached Thorin, just in time to save him from the second warg that had come up behind him.

Frodo turned away as soon as he saw that their important leader was safe. He did not remember Bilbo telling him about an escape to Rivendell, but it had been years since he had heard Bilbo’s story last and his memory was not infallible. Frodo resolved to review what he knew as soon as they reached Rivendell. He did, however, not fancy running to safety. Therefore he let the mystery of it go and turned to get the ponies.

“The ponies!” he cried seeing them start to bolt, frightened by the smell of warg and blood. Against all odds he hoped Bofur, who was closest, would be able to reach the ponies before they were gone. But Bofur’s hands barely missed the rains of the last pony, making the dwarf give a cry of frustration.

“Warg scouts!”

By now the wizards had come back from where they had been holding council and Thorin approached Gandalf, looking like a thundercloud.

“What is going on, wizard?”

Gandalf frowned and the ghost of something flashed over his face.

“You are being hunted.”

This answer lead various members of the company to start to speak at once, until Thorin stopped them with a roar.

“We have to leave!”

“We can’t, the ponies have bolted!”

“We’ll have to run.”

“Where do we go?”

“Thorin!”

“Uncle!”

“Stop!” Thorin thundered. “Gandalf, which direction is the elven valley?” He waited for Gandalf to point into the right direction and then turned and shouted “Follow me and the wizard!” The company did just that and soon they were running and dodging behind rocks whenever they could, hoping the orcs would not find them.

Frodo for his part had a bit of an issue with keeping up with the dwarves. While hobbits were quick and quiet, dwarves were the better sprinters. Gimli had told him the story of the three hunters often enough when he had still been recuperating in Ithilien. Frodo even remembered him saying “We dwarves are natural sprinters, very dangerous over short distances.”

“If this still counts as sprinting.”

Just when he thought his lungs could take no more the front of the group came to a sudden halt beside a big rock, making Frodo stumble into Bifur, nearly bounce off the dwarves pack and fall on his behind. Luckily for Frodo Bifur caught him before he could bruise himself again, steadying him with one hand. Trying to breathe, Frodo knew he should be doing something like getting Sting out of its sheath, but he could do nothing but brace his hands on his knees and try to get his breathing back under control. For an undefined amount of time, he fought black spots that had appeared in his vision a few minutes into their run.

When he was able to lift his head again, the first thing he saw Kili and Thorin finish off yet another scout.

“We are going to be in really deep trouble if we don’t get to Rivendell soon.”Frodo looked around, after their “sprint” half of their party looked like they could do with a bit of rest.

“Or rather a lot.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands into his face in hopes of using the sensation to override tightness in his chest and the weakness in his legs.

In the mean time Kili, who had left Thorin’s side as soon as the scout had been killed, had had enough time to go over the next hill and scout for enemies. He came running back over the crest of the hill, shouting.

“There are more coming!”

“Shoot them!” Thorin roared, making the company reach for their weapons and Kili shoot the closest warg.

Frodo also fumbled to get Sting out of its sheath a few seconds before he gave up. His trembling fingers did not want to cooperate.

“We are surrounded!”

Bifur, who had noticed that Frodo was not doing too good, stepped in front of him and Frodo’s line of sight was obscured right when another dwarf shouted that Gandalf had forsaken them.

“That cannot be right.” Frodo thought and tried to look around Bifur’s back to see where Gandalf had vanished to.

He was stopped by Bifur’s arm in front of his chest. Bifur accompanied the gesture with some growled Khuzdul, which made his intentions pretty clear, even if Frodo did not understand the words themselves. He was to stay behind Bifur.

“Hold your ground!” came Thorin’s shout again.

This seemed like a good idea in a bad situation to Frodo, but his body still refused to cooperate and he stumbled backwards until his back hit the rock formation behind him instead of just taking a step backwards. In front of him Bifur lifted his boar spear and shouted what might have been a dwarfish war cry.

Then a grey hat and beard popped up behind Frodo, making him jump and curl in on himself.

“This way, you fools!” Gandalf lifted his staff and pointed behind him. With another shout he turned and vanished into what appeared to be the mouth of a cave that was cleverly hidden in the rock behind Frodo’s back.

“Come on, move!”

All dwarves but Thorin and Kili quickly moved into the direction of where they had seen Gandalf and vanished from sight. Thorin stayed to secure their retreat and Kili was still standing a bit further out, shooting at the closest wargs and their riders.

Frodo’s world then tilted on its axis, when Bifur hoisted him up and over the rock that was obscuring the cave and he tumbled down a rock slide into the cave. Bifur then jumped after him, helped him up and kept him standing while they waited for Thorin and Kili.

Eventually even Thorin jumped down into the cave, an orc coming after him which the other dwarves made short work of and struck it with a variety of weapons. It lay dead within seconds. There was a brief moment in which the company tensely waited for more beasts to follow after the first, but then an elvish horn sounded outside of the cave and they could hear the sounds of battle.

“Elves.” Thorin said frowning and did not lower Orcrist, earning a disappointed look form Gandalf.

They were interrupted by Dwalin, who had gone to investigate the cave.

“There is a pathway, but I cannot see where it leads.” Dwalin shouted. “Do we follow it or no?”

“Follow it of course!” Bofur answered after a few seconds of silence from the company and soon they were shuffling down the path Dwalin had found.

By now Frodo had managed to pull himself together a bit and was able to follow along. A bit further down he saw Bifur, who had left his side, using his hands to talk to Oin. When they were done, Oin fell back to Frodo’s side.

“You ok, laddie?”

Frodo stayed silent for a short while and continued to concentrate on walking.

He wasn’t sure about why he was having so much trouble. The running had certainly been an issue, but he was unsure if that had really been all. Catching his breath had felt strangely the same as the breathing issues he had during a panic attack and he was still trembling a bit. Because who was he trying to kid, he most certainly had these. He had tried to lie to himself about them in Tirion, because sailing to the undying lands was supposed to help. It had turned out, however, that he had just taken his problem from one place to another. And sailing had, in fact, not been the cure for all ills.

“But you are probably just trembling from fatigue now. Stop making such a big deal out of yourself. You are fine, Frodo Baggins.” Frodo told himself.

He was also still feeling rather sore and the bruising on this back, while already turning a sickly green-yellow in places, still hurt something fierce.

“I am afraid Hobbits aren’t natural sprinters like dwarves are. And my back is still giving me a bit trouble.” Frodo decided as they stepped out of the cave and onto a narrow mountain trail.

Suddenly he felt very tired, which had really turned into more of a continuous theme than anything else.

Oin only hummed thoughtfully, letting it go and fell back a bit further to walk behind Frodo. Which probably was for the best, Frodo admitted to himself. He was keeping up with the company but he kept stumbling and it wouldn’t do for him to fall off the path and down into the valley, ending his part of in this quest prematurely. He trusted Oin that he would drag him back onto the path, should he stumble and fall. Not that Frodo intended to let himself be so inattentive.

“I haven’t come this far to die stupidly by falling down a cliff just because I cannot keep myself together a few short hours longer.”

He took a deep breath and griped the backpack strap over his bad shoulder tightly. He continued to march on, only to run smack into Fili’s back, because the company had suddenly stopped and he had not realized.

"So much about inattention." Frodo grumped at himself.

Fili had turned and reached for Frodo by the time he was done grumbling at himself, pointing excitedly.

“Mister Bilbo, look!” He pointed to something around the corner.

Then Fili hobbit-handled him into a position in which Frodo could see the valley of Rivendell and the last homely house down below them. Frodo thought he might have stopped breathing for half a second. He had seen the last homely house a number of times and even stayed within it, but he had never approached it from this angle and thus never seen it like this. The sight was… otherworldly. And he thought it looked quite similar to the mountain settlements that could be found in Aman - now that he had the reference to compare them.

Beside him the company was whispering among themselves. It appeared that they were appreciating the architecture and its integration into the mountains, even though this was an elven settlement and they would have never build it like this.

“The valley of Imladris.” Came Gandalf’s voice from the front of their group. “Here lies the last homely house east of the sea.”

They stood and appreciated the view for a little while longer, until Thorin called for them to get moving again. Their leader wanted them to be off the mountain paths before nightfall.

Soon their path became quite steep and they had to more or less climb it down instead of walk.

Around the time that dusk settled their path became wider and trees started to line their way again. The air became warmer and the smell of pine-trees noticeable. It made Frodo feel quite a bit safer and he gained a bit of spirit back as they continued to follow their path down into the valley.

When the trees changed form pine and larch to beech and oak Frodo’s ears picked up the sound of whispering in the trees and shortly the voice of an elf came in a burst of song sounding like laughter, asking them where they were going and also making little jests about their party.

It took a while, but soon Frodo could see from his companion’s reactions that the dwarves were becoming increasingly annoyed by their teasing. He understood that in their long life elves had to start finding their own merryment but he thought it was a very ill-done thing to alienate dwarves that probably did have a good view of elves in the first place.

At last they crossed the bridge into the actual settlement and a tall, young looking elf came down the stairs of a building and welcomed them into the valley, bowing to Gandalf and Thorin.

“Thank you.” Thorin said not only a little bit gruffly, but Gandalf had already stepped in front of him and started speaking to the elf, leaving the company standing behind him looking a bit uncertain.

Frodo frowned a bit and listened to Gandalf’s conversation, hoping to find out why it was Lindir that was greeting them. Lindir, who was a singer and usually not involved in the running of Lord Elrond’s household or in the housing of guests.

So far it did not seem like he would have any luck. He had only learned that Lord Elrond had ridden out with one of his hunting parties today, to hunt an orc pack that had dared to come too close to one of the entrances of the valley.

Gandalf’s conversation continued for an uncomfortable while longer and as the minutes went by the company seemed to become increasingly uneasy, as if they were expecting the elves to decide they did not want to grant them refuge in their valley and chase them right out again.

However, before anyone could do something stupid, they heard the call of an elvish horn and Lord Elrond’s hunting party came riding over the bridge. They then stopped, dismounted and started unsaddling. The riders seemed to have intentionally stopped in a way that they would not crowed the dwarves. There was an ample amount of space between the different groups, but Frodo and the boys were still shoved into the middle of their party, so that they were surrounded by the older dwarves. He even saw Dwalin rest his hands causally near his axes.

Frodo only heard the voice of Lord Elrond, who must have dismounted too, welcoming them into his valley.

“Be welcome in my house, Masters Dwarves. Come, I can smell wood-fires for cooking, supper is preparing. I offer you food and lodgings for as long as you may require it.”

With these words the elven Lord turned to Lindir and bade him in Sindarin to see to their well-being. Lindir looked quite put upon for a few moments and then turned to Gandalf, speaking in Sindarin instead of addressing the whole company in Common.

Remembering Bilbo telling him that their first supper in the last homely house had been all salad and vegetables – probably due to Lindir’s lack of knowledge about dwarves – Frodo decided to intervene.

“I hope you will be offering us a hearty meal, my Lords. We have come from far and I fear vegetables and salad will leave me rather hungry!” Frodo said in perfect Sindarin from his place in the middle of a circle of dwarves. He made his voice carry, so that he could be sure that even Lord Elrond had heard him.

Frodo knew he was being very uncourteous, but he would rather be impolite now than allow that the dwarves would feel like the elves were not feeding them. It had been one of Bilbo’s favorite things to tell to the faunts that the dwarves had made firewood out of Lord Elrond’s furniture and bathed in the fountains, whenever he had told them about “The Elves”.

And that would just not do.

At first he only got a few strange looks from the dwarves closest to him, but then Lord Elrond's voice came again.

“Have no fear, Master Hobbit. My sons have just come back from hunting this morning and I am sure that there will be a nice roast waiting for us when we have cleaned up. But fist follow Lindir to your rooms and rest some. I will do the same.” Lord Elrond said in Common.

A few minutes after this, they were following behind Lindir, walking to the guest quarters. Gandalf was walking in front of the company again, talking to Lindir, seemingly quite pleased with their situation and paying no attention to the dwarves or to Frodo.

Frodo was stumbling along again, exhaustion catching up to him now that they were safe and had the promise of a meal and a bed.

“I did not know that you were able to speak Elvish, laddie.” A hand landed on Frodo’s bad shoulder and he had to keep from flinching as he turned to Balin, who had spoken.

Bilbo and Legolas had taught him Sindarin and the elves of Tirion, who had been very curious about Bilbo and him, had taught him Quenya. But he could not tell Balin that. Thinking for a moment he decided to settle on telling him that Bilbo’s mother, Belladonna, had taught him. He knew that Belladonna had visited Rivendell and had been able to speak Sindarin. And if it would ever come up, he could just claim that he had taught himself Quenya reading Belladonna’s books. It was not like anyone could dispute it, improbable as it was.

“Sindarin, I was speaking Sindarin. My mother taught me, when I was still a faunt. She apparently used to visit Rivendell quite often, before she married.” Frodo threw a grimace at Balin, hoping he would take this as a private topic that Frodo did not want to elaborate on.

Balin made a thoughtful sound and continued to walk beside him.

“That is a quite useful skill to have, none of us speak Elvish very well. Do you have any other skill that could be useful on our journey?” Balin did not seem to have taken offense to the fact that Frodo had not mentioned his language skills.

“I am unsure what could be useful to us, but I am rather good with languages. I also speak Quenya. I read these languages as well.” Frodo decided to answer.

“Quenya?”

“The kind of Elvish the elves from the first age can speak. Taught myself.”

This wasn’t quite the correct explanation of Quenya, but it would have to do. Balin smiled kindly at him.

“It seems you are quite the scholar, Master Baggins.” He said, causing Frodo to laugh.

“Well, I did live alone and had no need for a day-to-day job. I had to keep myself entertained somehow.” Frodo shrugged, and then was saved from the conversation by their arrival at the guest quarters.

Lindir had decided to put them up in a number of interconnected rooms that also had a big common area. A few hushed arguments broke out among the dwarves, while they decided who would be rooming with whom. Frodo did not take part in them, feeling too tired. He would take what he got. Instead, he slowly wiped the dust of their journey from his face and clothes, using damp cloths Lindir had provided them with.

In the end, it was decided that he would be sharing a room with Fili and Kili, who had been his near constant companions since their encounter with the trolls. If they had signed up to share with him or if Thorin had made them keep a look on him, Frodo did not know nor care about. He was too tired. He simply took the first opportunity to sit down on a bed and intended to rest his eyes just for a little bit.

When he became aware of himself and his surroundings again, Kili was lightly shaking his left shoulder.

"Mister Bilbo, wake up! We are going to have supper."

Frodo shook his head lightly and stretched a bit to get his tiered muscles to loosen up. He had fallen asleep without even setting down his pack.

"Oh dear, I must have fallen asleep. Give me a second boys, to get out of my pack and cloak. When do we leave?"

"The elf from before is waiting for us in the hall. He doesn't look too happy, but a minute or two will not hurt." Fili answered him, still getting ready himself.

Setting his pack down beside the bed Frodo had fallen asleep on, he stretched a bit more and then turned to Fili and Kili. The boys were waiting for him, ready to go.

Leaving the room, Kili threw an arm over Frodo's shoulders and grinned sunnily at him, appearing to have the full intention to go to supper like this. When they met Lindir and the company outside and Frodo gave an experimental wiggle to see if Kili would let go of him. He was having no such luck.

Walking along, feeling rather uncomfortable, Frodo went for a direct approach.

"You can let go of me, Kili. I am quite fine to walk by myself."

"I rather not if it is all the same to you, Mister Bilbo. We thought we had lost you again, when you vanished while we were running from that orc pack." Kili replied, surprising Frodo a bit.

He hadn't been aware that the boys had been keeping an eye out for him.

"You are quite good at vanishing, Mister Bilbo." Kilo added and then gave a sly smile. "We also don't want the elves to get ideas."

"It's not like they are going to steal me!"

"That just shows how little you know about them, Mister Bilbo."

"I am not something to be stolen, either!"

"They were your words, not ours. You have also not seen the way the ones we passed by on our way to the guest quarters looked at you, Mister Bilbo." Fili added. "They seemed rather interested in you. And we are not about to loose you again."

Frodo gave a rather exasperated sigh at this explanation, but resolved himself to his fate.

"If it makes the boys feel better."

They walked for a bit until they reached the place where they were supposed to have supper. Lindir led them out onto a nice terrace where the elves had placed long tables that where laden with food and... Frodo froze. This was the same place they had held the Ring-Council on.

For a moment he was back, agreeing to take the Ring to Mordor and he couldn't... couldn't... bre-, but then Kili tightened his grip painfully and Frodo was back with the company. In this moment he could truly and without any sarcasm say that he had never been so grateful for someone having a bruising grip on his shoulders, as he was to Kili now.

Kili led him over to where Lord Elrond, Gandalf, Thorin and Balin were seated. He was then placed beside Thorin, which was an absurdity that was just what Frodo needed to keep himself from loosing it. Falling back on old habits and figurative muscle memory, he gave Thorin, Balin and Gandalf a polite nod and then half bowed into the direction of their host.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Elrond. I am very much looking forward to our meal."

Lord Elrond acknowledged his gratitude with an even smaller bow, smiled at him and made a hand motion to help himself to the offered food. For once Frodo was happy to play the stereotypical hobbit and busied himself with loading his plate over full of meats, vegetables and bread. He even got seconds as he ate, focusing his whole attention on the food.

That was until the low rumble of Thorin’s voice came from his left, startling him out of his catharsis.

"Balin tells me you speak Elvish, Master Baggins."

"That I do, Master Oakenshield. Sindarin and Quenya that is, but that is probably all they speak here. In other realms it might be different." Frodo answered quite kindly, surprised at their leaders civility.

"I would have you translate for me, should the wizard and the elf lord decide to speak Elvish."

And that was probably the reason why he was sitting beside their rather important leader, Frodo thought. It was, however, also something he could understand. Frodo had always thought it to be rather impolite to go speaking in another language, when one or several members of a group were not able to understand it. Personally, he had had enough of it when he had first come to Tirion.

"That should be no problem, Master Oakenshield." He agreed.

It would keep him occupied if nothing else.

Chapter Text

An hour later Frodo had translated a number of stray words and sentences and eaten enough to feed 3 grown individuals of any other races present to keep himself occupied. This had lead to Balin throwing him first confused and then rather concerned looks whenever he thought Frodo was not looking. Even Thorin had looked at him strangely, when he had moved on to the dishes further down the table. Eating and getting strange looks was, however, infinitely more preferable than giving his brain the time to start to dwell on the history he had with this particular terrace.

Frodo, having finished all he had put on his plate, turned and moved yet further down the table to take a few filled buns, when he realized that the dwarves were about done with their meals and had moved on to talking and merry making. He watched a few of them scoff at the music that some of their hosts were making and then watched some more when Bofur started a song that reminded him of “The cow jumped over the moon”. Smiling, he stayed standing and watched Bofur for a bit until Bofur made a move to jump onto that stone table thing on which he had placed the Ring so long ago.

Choking on the bun he was eating Frodo felt like he wasn’t able to breath for the second time since the start of their meal. Frodo had already come very close to breaking several times today and he wasn’t sure if the little actions of Bofur stepping onto that stone pedestal wouldn’t be the last straw for him. Frodo wasn’t even sure if he would start screaming, burst into tears or do something even worse. He was, however, sure that it would make everyone present question his sanity.

Which was… fair to be truthful, but he couldn’t have that. Someone would probably try to stop him going with the company, and he couldn’t just let Bilbo’s dwarves walk to their deaths. Not the boys and not even their very important leader, if Frodo could help it.

But returning to his current dilemma, it didn’t seem right to him that anyone would step on that pedestal, not when it had been the platform for something terrible as The One Ring.

Making a split second decision Frodo reached back and threw the bun he had been holding. It hit Fili in the face and bounced off and onto Kili’s lap, causing both boys to stop what they were doing and look for the source of the flying bun.

When Fili’s searching eyes met Frodo’s across the table Frodo mouthed “Tables are not for stepping on.” exaggeratedly and pointed at Bofur, hoping that Fili would understand him.

“Please Fili!”

Fili looked confused for a moment, but then he turned and elbowed Bofur, who was in the middle of stepping onto that pedestal.

Frodo could not hear what Fili said to Bofur, but the dwarf stopped and shot Frodo a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck and then went to where the elvish musicians were seated.

“Bless you, Fili.”

Frodo threw the brothers a grateful smile and went back to eating. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer, he was reaching the limit of how much food his body could take. But Frodo could and would not give himself the time to start thinking while he was in company. He would have to excuse himself before then.

So Frodo went back to eating, making it through Thorin’s, Gandalf’s and Elrond’s conversation about their swords. In contrast to what Bilbo had done though, he stayed silent and did not ask about Sting, because whatever the blade had been in Gondolin during the first age, it was going to be so much more in the third.

By the time he felt positive that he would not be able to eat even one more bite, the conversation about blades had wound down and everyone had been listening to the music and the company’s antics in content silence. Only that Frodo’s silence was not content, seeing he felt seconds away from crying … or something else. Taking his chance to escape, Frodo addressed Elrond and excused himself, saying he was tired and sore and would take the opportunity to get some rest.

He did, however, not give Elrond or Thorin the time to object, turning on his heal and walking out.

When he was halfway down the corridor leading from the terrace, he was still walking, but only barely so. His hands were trembling and he had … his mind was screaming at him to run, he needed to get away, to hide lest someone would witness the inevitable breakdown he was heading to.

The logical part of his mind that was often running a commentary on his emotions, decisions and actions mused that this breakdown had been a long time coming. He had used the last of his leaves more than two weeks ago and the trolls, the orcs and all these unbidden flashbacks he’d been having since coming down into the valley, it was no surprise that he was reaching his limit now.

Meanwhile, the other parts of his mind were screaming to find a quiet place where he could be alone.

Blood was pounding in his ears. He turned around the nearest corner and as soon as the company and the elves on the terrace were not able to see him anymore, started running. He ran, letting his memory guide him until he found a part of Rivendell that was devoid of people and then jammed his body into the first small, secluded spot he could find. Again, he hoped that no one would see him, but he lacked the mental fortitude to really care.

He did not know how long he spend with his head between his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath, but it must have been a while.

Because what he came back to was an upbeat voice telling him … how to best build an adit for mining ore above the coastal... level? Or a … plain? A … a valley floor?

Frodo wasn’t sure.

The voice continued on anyway.

It took a small eternity, but eventually Frodo had build himself up enough to slow his breathing. The world slowly stopped spinning. Eventually, he started paying attention to the upbeat voice again that had now graduated to telling him about mining techniques for the ore itself.

He thought upon that for a bit.

Recognizing the voice at last, his mind held onto the first thing it could, like a drowning person and he groaned “I thought you mine coal in Ered Luin.” without bothering to lift his head from between his knees.

The source of the voice, who happened to be Bofur, stumbled over his words a bit and then sheepishly answered.

“Yes, well … coal is the only thing we have left … but we did mine iron and copper! And before it was sunk into the sea they even had gold and diamond deposits under Belegost!”

“Mmpf … .” said Frodo and fought to straighten his back and lift his head.

When a minute had passed by and he didn’t miraculously feel better, Frodo resigned himself to his pitiful state and merely turned his head a bit into Bofur’s direction and rested his right cheek on his left knee. He blinked blearily at the dwarf a few times. It took some time until his vision cleared.

Bofur appeared to be half sitting in a bush. Which meant that Frodo must have crawled into undergrowth to hide like some small animal. Usually he would have been mortified by his behavior, but Frodo really could not bring himself to care.

He spend another minute thinking on this.

Then the realization that if Bofur told Thorin of this and Thorin would decide that he was a liability, all of this would have been for nothing. Reaching for Bofur’s shoulders he shot up and very nearly tumbled into the dwarf’s lap when he misjudged the effort and distance.

Instead he was halted by Bofur’s hand on his shoulder that then easily put him back into a sitting position.

Some of the terror Frodo was feeling, however, must have shown on his face because Bofur averted his eyes and carefully moved back a bit to give Frodo more space.

“You know” Bofur said and moved a few leaves to look at the starry night sky “a lot of warriors over 170 have battle-dreams of the Battle of Azanulbizar. Younger dwarves have them, too. For most they are rare, but some who have lost a lot or that were wounded terribly … . On bad days Bifur’s are … well, we can only weather them out and keep him company. Much like in your case just now. I suppose what I want to say, Master Baggins, is that they are your private business. I won’t tell. You killed two trolls for us.”

Bofur looked back down and awkwardly winked at Frodo.

“No need to tell anyone, unless you want to.”

“I … I … ” Frodo had to swallow audibly.

“They are nothing to be ashamed of.” Bofur cut his stuttering off in a rush, as if he wasn’t sure weather he should say the words and had to make himself say them fast to get them out.

Being reminded of killing the trolls still made him feel like he had betrayed all he believed in, but the here and now … was so much more important.

Then Frodo realized that he must have gotten lost again for a bit. “Curse this.”

Mister Bofur had hunched his shoulders a bit after not receiving a reply. He was now looking at his hands, like he was expecting a reprimand.

“For what? A perceived slight? Being overly familiar? Being kind?”

That was better, a save topic Maybe. Not about Frodo or any of the baggage he could not explain to anyone.

“Th- ank you, Mister Bofur.” He tried to be especially kind, but had to catch his breath in between the words. Frodo wasn’t sure if he had managed any of the positive tone he was trying for.

“Utter failure.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, I should apologize, laddie.”

Frodo frowned at Bofur.

“I couldn’t help but notice that I must have done … something. You left pretty quickly after Fili stopped me from stepping on that pedestal.”

“Ah… botheration.”

Frodo could not help but curl up around his knees again.

Bofur moved back some more.

“You don’t have to tell me what it was, Master Baggins. But if you did, I would avoid doing it in the future.” Bofur offered.

Frodo felt a slightly hysterical laugh wanting to escape him, bubbling in his chest and tickling the back of his throat. “Save topic, sure.” He clamped jaw together instead and ground his teeth as hard as he could. How could he explain his issues to Bofur? He couldn’t. Still, the kind offer soothed something else inside him and made him feel a bit better about himself. Which was somehow a huge improvement compared to earlier this evening. “This is like the thrice damned emotional equivalent of a sea storm.” Frodo run his hands through his hair in hopes the feeling would help. “Up, down, up, down, up. Half drowning and up again. I wonder when I will sink.”

He wasn’t entirely in control of himself, but he still had to try.

“Sometimes I don’t think I can bare this kindness despite my actions that the dwarves are showing me.”

Frodo looked at Bofur again. Bofur, who had done everything in his power to make Frodo feel better since he had realized something was amiss, who had told him it was okay not to be okay.

“But I can’t … can’t just not wanting to repay it somehow.”

“I … can’t… . But please! Mister Bofur, call me Bilbo.” he said instead, trying again to express his gratefulness for the kindness he had been shown.

Bofur blinked at Frodo a few times, seemingly trying to keep up with the sudden change of topic, but then his face morphed into a 1000 degree version of his usual sunny smile.

“Then you will have to call me Bofur, laddie!”

Moving forward to seemingly headbutt him. Frodo, still remembering the “crack” of Dwalin and Mister Balin’s heads against each other, was suddenly overcome with a bout of real and very immediate existential fear. Hobbit skulls just couldn’t do that.

Bofur stopped short when he saw Frodo flinch back slightly and look at him with wide terrified eyes. Laughing and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Bofur moved back to sit again.

“Sorry, laddie.” Bofur said, maybe having come to the same conclusion.

“That is ok, Bofur. It’s just hobbits are just not made for that type of … ah … though love that you dwarves show. It’d break us … I think.”

Frodo said, and then added “Bodily.” as an afterthought to clarify his statement. Which apparently did not help much – or at all – to reduce the comical-ness of the situation, because beside him Bofur’s shoulders began to shake with poorly hidden laughter. Managing to get himself under control a bit, Bofur gave a playful smile.

“I did not expect to get unwittingly, but very gently let down by a hobbit today. I fear my heart might never recover, Bilbo.”

Bofur held an expression of ridiculous, exaggerated heartbreak for all but a second before he dissolved into laughter again.

It took Frodo a few seconds to realize that in any other situation his words could have been a very roundabout way of turning someone’s advances down. At the ridiculousness of this conversational leap from mental breakdowns to spurned advances, true mirth made real laughter bubble up form deep within him. Frodo laughed until he felt his sides arched and he had tears in his eyes again. And when he stopped Frodo realized that he had somehow managed to shove that door between himself and his unresolved trauma closed again. He went nearly boneless with relief.

“You can do this, Frodo Baggins.”

“Mi- Bofur, thank you.” Frodo repeated and pushed himself to stand up, making Bofur move to give him space to crawl out of the undergrowth.

Standing up Frodo brushed earth and leaves from his clothes and then offered a hand to Bofur, who was still sitting on the ground looking at him with mirth in his eyes. Bofur accepted his offered hand and let himself be helped up and then let go of Frodo’s hand again, as soon as he was standing. Offering another sunny smile, Bofur motioned into the direction they must have come from.

“We should get back before our esteemed leader -” Bofur’s smile turned sly and he winked at Frodo as if he was sharing a joke “- notices that we are not in our quarters. He wanted to send someone after you and I volunteered. Told him I’d check up on you, make sure you don’t get stolen by elves. Thorin said to ensure you are either in the quarters or to take you back to the company if you were wandering.”

Feeling fondly exasperated with this very dwarfish reasoning Frodo let out a noise of protest, which shortly turned into a huge yawn. He suddenly felt all the physical exhaustion again that came from spending a part of their way to Rivendell running for their lives. Maybe … certainly the panic attack also factored into it.

“I could sleep where I stand. How is emotional turmoil such tiring business?”

“If it is all the same to you, I would like to retire. Please don’t let me keep you from going back to the … dinner party.”

“You are not keeping me from anything, Bilbo. No such thing!” Bofur replied rather earnestly, frowning lightly and gingerly put a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. The dwarf then hobbit-handled him – again, very carefully – into the direction of their quarters. Frodo decided to let him.

Walking along, Frodo felt the need to fill the silence with a bit of small talk. Bofur had never struck him as someone how liked silences, so the least he could do was fill them.

“The dinner reminded me of home, you know?”

Bofur made a small questioning noise to urge him to continue on.

“Well, you see … hobbits like their parties, so it is very impolite not to invite your family to your birthday parties. Or not to have birthday parties at all. But hobbits tend to have very big families, you see, so I used to be able to get away with inviting my mother’s and my father’s families on alternate years. Mostly. Because letting it look like I didn’t want them to meet is also very impolite. And Hobbits like their family feuds. So every few years I would have a dinner party for my birthday and invite my mother’s family the Tooks and my father’s family the Bagginses and Sackville-Bagginses.”

At this point the looks Bofur gave him while maneuvering him through Elrond’s halls were curious. So Frodo continued.

“The problem is that Tooks and Bagginses are like oil and water. They do not mix well. That is also why I used to have dinner parties, you know? Mixing them any longer than a night would have led to too much gossip. And feuds that would last for generations.”

“I didn’t think Hobbits would be violent enough to have family feuds.” Bofur threw in disbelievingly.

Frodo stopped forcefully and turned into a different corridor to stop the dwarf from leading them in a circle, making Bofur follow him. He did not want to walk in circles, his brain and body had gone from an emergency to a rest state entirely too many times for one day.

“Oh, no. They are not violent, Mi- Bofur. But nothing galls quite as much as someone bringing their own pie to a tea invitation. The pure disdain. The insinuation that you don’t feed your guests or don’t feed them enough or offer them lesser quality food. Slander! You’d be the talk of the whole neighborhood for weeks. Everyone you’d invite, would eat before visiting you. The shame!”

Frodo laughed lightly.

“Anyway, the disdain was quite similar.” He finished in quite a droll tone when they reached the door of their assigned quarters.

Bofur barked a laugh.

“Your family sounds quite amusing, lad.”

He opened the door to the common area and made an exaggerated gesture to invite Frodo in.

“There you go lad.”

Then Bofur sobered up.

“Will you be alright on your own?” He asked and looked at Frodo keenly.

Feeling like he would actually be alright Frodo nodded.

“Thank you, Bofur.”

The dwarf continued looking at him, as if judging whether Frodo was being truthful. It took a few seconds until he seemed to come to a conclusion.

“Then I think I’ll go back to the dinner party. I think someone promised us ale to go with their elvish wine, just as I left.”

He moved to close the door behind Frodo, before stopping again.

“And Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“I won’t tell.” He said and closed the door.

Sighing Frodo was left staring at the closed door, feeling very grateful and very tired as he listened to Bofur’s heavy steps moving away.

After an undefined while that he spend basking in the fact that for once all tension had drained out of his body, Frodo shook himself out of it lest he would get to tired to get himself ready for bed. He moved to to the room he was sharing with the boys, undressed and took out his last clean tunic from this pack. Slipping it over his head and marveling at the clean, familiar feeling he crawled under the covers and fell into such a deep sleep, that he did not hear hear the company stumbling drunkenly back into their shared quarters.

----------

When he woke up the next morning the sun was already shining through the high windows. Sitting up sleepily Frodo rubbed his eyes and stretched, yawning. He still felt a bit tired, but the feeling was miles better than it had been before. Trying to guess the time by (the light in) the room, he realized it couldn’t be too late in the morning. After all, Fili and Kili were still sleeping in a pile on the bed beside his.

“There is something strangely endearing about them sleeping like that.” He mused, stifling another yawn.

Trying not to wake the boys Frodo got up quietly and grimaced when he remembered that he had no clean clothes left. He left his shirt on, dressed quietly in his least dirty trousers and waistcoat and then gathered the rest of the clothes up and left the bedroom. In the common area of the guest quarters he found Nori sitting and sharpening his knives. Waving in greeting to him Frodo held up the pile in his arms and left the common area after Nori had waved back. He didn’t wait to see if the dwarf would stop him.

Standing in the corridor outside of their guestrooms, Frodo decided that he would first take his clothes to the laundry to wash them and then get some breakfast for himself in the kitchens. He knew where both places were, because on their first “visit” Sam had been mortified by the idea of the elves washing his dirty laundry and had insisted on being shown the laundry and doing it himself. Similarly, Merry and Pippin had taken to looking for and later ransacking the kitchens for second breakfast, elevenses, afternoon tea and dinner, because back then they had still been used to Shire mealtimes.

“And by the time I am finished, I should be able slip back into the guestrooms before the dwarves – by which I mean Thorin and the boys in particular – realize I had left. After all, these ridiculous boys kept on insisting that the elves would try to steal me yesterday. I wouldn’t want to distress them or get them in trouble with our esteemed grumpiness – I really shouldn’t call him something like that, even within my own head. I should hurry and get my morning tea! … get them in trouble with Master Oakenshield, depending on whether they got the idea of hobbit-stealing elves by themselves or from their uncle.”

Frodo thought this as he made his way down the corridor and into the direction of to the laundry.

After a bit of walking, he reached the laundry and opened the door.

“Pardon?”

He called out quietly in hopes of finding the laundry empty.

Unfortunately for his hopes, someone appeared to be already present, as a light elvish voice answered his call with the Sindarin equivalent of “Yes? Down here!”.

Stopping himself shortly, Frodo moved into the direction of the voice.

“Greetings. Excuse me, I was looking to wash my clothes. Would it be acceptable if I were to keep you company to do so?”

Frodo called out quietly again, this time in Sindarin.

Walking around a boiler about twice as high as himself, Frodo came face to face with a ellon. He felt like he had seen this elf before. The elf seemed surprised for a second, but then the look on his face changed to open curiosity. He looked Frodo up and down shamelessly, eyes lingering first on his face and then on his feet. The expression on his face then morphed into an impish grin.

“Greetings, Master Dwarf. This is the first time that I’ve seen a dwarf with his beard on his legs instead of on his face!”

He called out, the grin widening on his face.

Frodo wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this certainly wasn’t it. Drawing a blank, his mouth got away with him before he could stop it.

“This is my first time coming across an elf that is not able to tell a hobbit from a dwarf. Strange thing that, I must say. And here I thought the ears and the feet have been a dead giveaway – never mind my missing a significant amount of muscle mass. I shall endeavor to grow even pointier ears and furrier feet in the future.”

Strangely, he took no offense at Frodo’s words. Instead they caused the ellon’s eyes first to widen comically and then to crinkle with unrestrained mirth. Shortly thereafter the ellon was leaning against the boiler and holding his belly laughing.

Drawing a blank again Frodo stood, a pile of dirty laundry in his arms, gaping slightly until the elf got a hold on himself.

“Hahah- that was magnificent, thank you Master Hobbit. H- the only other person that ever comes up with such pointed responses to my jokes is my brother – and my sister, but she does not live here. I am very pleased to make the acquaintance of such a pointy individual as yourself. Well met, Master Hobbit. I am Elrohir Elrondion. You may call me ‘Ro. We shall get along famously.”

The ellon said and still leaning against the boiler for support made an intentionally awkward little bow that ended in a one-handed flourish.

“ … what? Oh… OH! That is why he seemed familiar, I haven’t really met him before, I have met his sister and his father. And I might have seen him and his brother.”

His manners kicking in, Frodo introduced himself and then fell silent eyeing the ellon suspiciously.

“Bilbo Baggins of Bags End, Hobbit of the Shire. Pleased to meet you … in the laundry.”

He found it hard to believe that a child of Elrond would be working in the laundry before breakfast. Frodo thought this over for a few seconds but then realized that he was sticking his nose into something that was not his business. He eyed Elrohir and the boiler again.

“You know what? I don’t even want to know.” He decided.

“Please forget what I said, Master Elrohir. It is non of my business. Please carry on.”

Frodo stepped around Elrohir and moved to put his clothes into a smaller water-powered washer. A light frown appeared on the ellon’s face and then cleared up as quickly as it had appeared.

“I am dyeing my brother’s and Captain Glorfindel’s favorite shirts puce.” Elrohir said and grinned at Frodo sunnily. “One needs to try their hardest to find happiness every day a little bit, and their faces when they see their shirts, shall certainly make me laugh.”

He nodded to himself as if dyeing shirts puce was a logical step to make somebody – but not necessarily the owners of said shirts – happy, but also seemed to be slightly amused by this own words.

“And as you are now a knowing accomplice of my secret plan to happiness, you may assume we are friends and thus should stop calling me ‘Master Elrohir’.”

He continued and the impish grin made a reappearance on his face, only to turn into puppy dog eyes.

“Having a Perian as a friend sounds splendid.”

“ … what again? Am I just being bullied into being friends with one of Lord Elrond’s sons?!”

Sighing Frodo looked at his washing and contemplated his situation for a bit. Then he turned back to Elrohir, who hadn’t moved or changed his expression at all. He looked remarkably similar to Pippin with that expression on his face.

“… and it seems to be working.”

“Alright … M- Elrohir. I would like to be your friend, but you will have to give me some time. Hobbits do not go from formal to nicknames in the matter of minutes.”

He stated, trying to get out of calling a nearly three millennia old elf – and a fierce warrior on top of that – by a two lettered nickname.

“Merry and Pippin probably would, but what he does not know does not hurt him. Also, I am pretty sure that calling an elf by any nickname would cause Master Oakenshield to have a coronary. And that is unacceptable … I can’t be having with that kind of thing. Master Oakenshield will have to be King under the Mountain, about 320 and I quite dead before he is allowed to kneel over. Thank you very much.”

Frodo shook his head at his own thoughts.

Opposite of him Elrohir’s puppy eyes morphed into unholy glee, making Frodo reconsider his life choices shortly.

“Perfect! In that case you can actively assist me with my – our – pursuit of happiness!”

Elrohir reached for him and pulled Frodo a bit further down the aisle to an elf-waist-high cauldron, which meant he could comfortably rest his chin on its rim. Its contents were bright and nearly purple. Frodo run his hands down his face. He wasn’t going to get out of this, it seemed. He sighed deeply for good measure.

“Alright, what are we going to do?”

“It is nearly time for the morning shift, so I will take the shirts outside and hang them to dry and you will drain the dye and rinse out the cauldron and hopefully we will be done before someone comes in and sees us.”

Elrohir said, grabbed a bucket and a stirring rod, fished the shirts out of the cauldron and transferred them into the bucket. Then he winked at Frodo and hurried into the direction of the outside clotheslines. Frodo was left starring at the empty spot beside himself.

“Oh dear. Nothing to it … hopefully. Let’s do this then.”

He moved to drain the cauldron and while the colored water vanished he looked around for some hose to rinse it. Finding nothing, he took a smaller tub that was leaned against the wall behind him and carried it to the closest tab, filling it with water. When it was full, he tried lifting it and realized that it was now too heavy for him to carry for a long time and resigned to carefully and painstakingly drag it back to the cauldron. Then it took some careful balancing, but after a minute he was able to lift just so and tip the tub into the cauldron effectively rinsing about 90 percent of the remaining color away.

Meanwhile Elrohir seemed to have finished with what he was doing and came back down aisle, grinning.

“Alright! Lets finish up before -”

He stopped short and seemed to listen for a moment.

“Whoops. Too late! Every ello- hobbit for himself … run!”

Elrohir patted Frodo twice on his shoulder and then turned and sprinted off at a ridiculous speed. At the same time the door opened and Frodo heard a number of elvish voices enter.

Unreasonably he felt a moment of panic before he stamped down the feeling hard. He had done nothing wrong even if he had become a reluctant accomplice to Elrohir’s shirt dyeing!

He still moved back to his washer as quietly as he could, but then called out to the arriving elves in Sindarin.

“Hello? Excuse me please. I am Bilbo, I came in with the company of dwarves yesterday. I needed to wash my clothes and made use of one of the small washers. I hope that is alright with you?”

A quiet sound of surprise followed his words.

“Yes? It would have been no bother if you would have put your clothes out for us to get- !”

One of the workers came around the – in Frodo’s opinion unnecessary huge – boiler Elrohir had leaned against and caught sight of him, stopping again with a surprised sound. The expression on the worker’s face then moved from surprise into delight.

“You are not a dwarf. Not that we mind them, but you are adorable! Pray tell what kind of delightful being are you?”

They laughed pleasantly, having seemingly never seen a hobbit.

“… what?”

This was even more unexpected than his encounter with Elrohir.

“I- what is happening? Also, adorable … really? I am middle aged. This did not happen the first time I came to Rivendell? Do they not know of hobbits? Do they know I am not a child? Bilbo did not say anything about this? Could it be that they ... just did not notice? What about when me, Sam, Merry and Pippin came to Rivendell? Were there elves who had just not noticed Bilbo living here for two decades? Is that possible? And I just did not notice them either?! ...-was I that preoccupied?”

He reluctantly stopped himself before his thoughts went entirely off topic. It somehow seemed a very elvish thing to do, not to notice someone for twenty years. He felt a bit curious about that. It certainly was a much better thing to think about than his usual baggage.

Frodo took a bit of time to restart his thought process, while the worker – washer? – just blinked placidly at him, waiting for a response.

“Apologies. I am Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire. The man call us halflings even though we are not half anything. If that helps? Actually, I think my mother visited some fifty-something years ago.”

“Oh! No, I don’t think I have met her. A shame, you hobbits seem like pleasant people.”

They seemed disappointed by that.

“May I?”

They motioned into his direction as if to touch him but stopped short, waiting for permission. Respecting his personal space was nice of them and disappointment in an elf just seemed … not alright somehow. Frodo tried to remember if he had ever seen Legolas disappointed. He did not think so. He had been many things angry and annoyed, back when Gimli had still been trying to rile him up at every chance he got, happy, content and even scared. But Frodo did not think he had ever seen Legolas disappointed. And he never wanted to either, not any elf for that matter, but not Legolas in particular.

So he nodded and they put their hand on his head petting his hair a few times, a smile returning to their face.

“Thank you!” They exclaimed and took his left shoulder to lightly push him towards the exit. “I will take care of your clothes and make sure that they will get back to the guest rooms!”

“You do not need to, I will come back and take care of them.”

They shook their head grinning.

“Nope! I am very pleased with meeting someone new and you have indulged me! So have no fear, I will take care of your washing. I enjoy working here, you know?”

They followed their words with a bell-like laugh and stopped at the door, through which Frodo had originally come in.

He had just experienced the mental equivalent of being nearly bowled over by an overexcited dog being, twice. Pleasant, but scary at the same time. He did not argue with them and he gave a light bow instead.

“In that case, thank you very much. I shall take my leave and keep you from your work no further.”

They gave a delighted laugh and returned the bow, waving after him as he left the laundry.

Outside Frodo stopped and thought for a bit. He then decided that he really felt quite good about his encounters and continued on, intending to find himself breakfast.

He started whistling to himself and continued on his way.

About halfway to the kitchen he passed a small hall and he thought he had seen someone, but when he stopped to call out a “Good morning!” there was no one there, so he shrugged and continued on this way. After turning the next corner, he then got the impression of light footsteps following behind him. That struck him as a bit strange, but seeing as this was Rivendell Frodo supposed it might be an extra mischievous elf. After all, he had already met one of these today.

When the footsteps continued to follow him for two more turns, he got curious. Keeping an eye out he started to change his walking speed a bit erratically. It took about three more turns to catch a glimpse of his tail. And to his surprise his tail was too small to be an elf.

“Too small to be an elf and too quiet to be one of my dwarves. Considering their size, it might be a child. Lets see if I can lure them out.”

Frodo smiled to himself and continued his way to the kitchens. While walking he listened to the footsteps and thought about how he used to catch mischievous faunts back in the Shire. Berries and cream would do nicely and if he topped them with a handful of oats he would be able to eat them as breakfast, should his tail vanish while he was getting his first breakfast.

Before long he reached the kitchens and proceeded to knock loudly on the door before opening it and stepping in. He was met with the curious looks of one of the cooks that had heard his knocking and had stopped on their way at the door. Frodo gave a bow to the ellon.

“Hello there.” The elf said looking like he was in a bit of a hurry. “What can we do for you?”

“Greetings. Bilbo Baggins at your service. I was looking to get myself some breakfast if you, or one of your fellows, can spare me a bit of time.” Frodo told him and tried to smile charmingly at the elf, taking a leaf out of Fili and Kili’s book. After all, the reward would be breakfast and the needed tools to catch his little tail.

The elf started smiling in response, looking suitably charmed for a moment and then started to look apologetic.

“I am in a bit of a hurry right now, but I will send you my teacher. She should have a bit more time than myself right now. Please wait here for a moment.”

With these words he hurried off and vanished into the busy crowd that was preparing Rivendell’s breakfast.

Frodo did not have to wait for long until an elleth appeared out of the crowd. He repeated his greeting.

“Greetings. Bilbo Baggins at your service. I had already told your student? I was looking for some breakfast, if you can spare me a moment.”

He bowed again and tried to replicate his earlier smile, which earned him an amused smile from the elleth in return.

“Well met, Mister Baggins. Yes, my student told me of your quest for breakfast. What would you like?”

“Well, I am not only on a quest for breakfast, you see. On my way here I seem to have acquired a small tail that I was hoping to catch.” Frodo grinned and looked at the elleth questioningly in hopes of her knowing, who might be following him. Odds where that there weren’t too many small people or children in Rivendell.

“A tail?”

“Yes, I managed to catch a glimpse of someone small, probably about my size. I think they might have had dark hair, but I did not want to scare them away. I did not stop for better look. Would you possibly have an idea, who might be following me?”

Frodo finished his explanation with a smile, followed by an a little exaggerated, solemn nod. This earned him a little laugh and a look. She hummed a thoughtful note.

“I think I might, Mister Baggins. Apart form yourself and your companions there is only one person here who would be about your size.”

She winked at him conspiratorially.

“Lord Elrond’s foster son, Estel. He is rather curious and might have escaped before breakfast and his lessons to get a good look at you and your company. We don’t get a company of dwarves all that often.”

Frodo nodded along, it seemed reasonable that Rivendell wouldn’t host dwarves very often.

“Very well, in that case could I get some berries and cream with a handful of oats, some tea and milk if you have it, and maybe a breadroll-”

He listed his desired breakfast off, feeling very pleased with himself. Then the implications of the elleth’s statement registered and he stopped short.

“Ah- that. That is-, he said- Aragorn … .”

Frodo had not expected to meet one of his dear friends so soon. Somehow he felt very shaken by the idea of meeting a tiny version of Aragorn. His king, the best Man he had known – not the bravest Man, never the bravest, that was Boromir – his friend.

While Frodo tried to get his thoughts under control and decipher what he was feeling right now, the elleth agreed to his request and went to look for his food.

It took a little while but soon Frodo realized that he was just surprised and feeling very excited to be able to get to know his friend as a child.

Coming to this conclusion he turned his focus outside again and was just in time to see the elleth approach with the breakfast she had assembled for him. While he wanted to set off to catch his friend as soon as possible, Frodo received the tray with his breakfast courteously and thanked the elleth kindly before quickly leaving the kitchen.

Back in the corridor he looked around and luckily found a small shadow badly hidden behind a sideboard near where the corridor split, looking curiously around his hiding place into the direction of the kitchen door. Frodo quickly looked away and pinned his gaze on his tray, as if he needed to concentrate on not dropping or spilling anything. Starting to whistle loudly to give little Aragorn some cover for his footsteps. Frodo moved down the corridor and around the bend, which he knew would lead him to the kitchen gardens. Light footsteps, near inaudible over his whistling followed him.

In the gardens he moved to the left, where there should be a little stone bench hidden behind a blackberry and herb patch. Finding it exactly where it had been 70+ years from now, he mentally thanked the elves for being slow to change.

The set down his tray and started preparing his tea, thinking that if Aragorn was anything like the faunts in the Shire, it would take a bit of time for him to muster up the courage to approach him.

Seeing the kind elleth had given him a glass full of milk instead of a splash in a little milk jug, he ever so carefully tipped a bit of the milk into his tea and then set the still full glass down on the tray again. Then he stirred his tea for a long minute and was rewarded with a small rustle in the blackberries.

“You catch flies with honey and curious faunts with early strawberries and sweetened cream.”

He laughed to himself and proceeded to slowly and carefully prepare his bread roll, cutting it and taking a bit of cream to spread on one half. Then he took the best looking strawberries out of their bowl and set them at the corner of the tray on the side facing the blackberry bushes. Just as Frodo turned back to the other half of his bread roll the rustling came again, this time louder and followed by a quiet curse. Taking this as his clue, Frodo looked up and over to the blackberry bushes, as if he had been surprised by the noise. And apparently he had chosen just the right moment, as his eyes met with a pair of gray ones, which winded first and then vanished after a second with a quiet sound of surprise.

“Hello?” He ventured as if he was confused.

When he got no response Frodo decided on a, a little more direct approach.

“I am Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, a hobbit from the Shire, at your service.”

The blackberries rustled as if little Aragorn wanted to come out but then caught himself, unsure if he really should.

“If you came out, I would be willing to share my breakfast with you. It is nicer to eat in company.” Frodo tried to keep the laughter that was bubbling up inside him out of his voice and then revealed his secret weapon. “You can take some strawberries and cream, they are the best. I think the kind cook that gave them to me even sweetened the cream.”

The rustling returned and between the bushes the younger and more rounded face of his friend appeared, to look longingly at the at the strawberries. After a few seconds a decision was apparently made and Aragorn crawled out of a small opening between the bushes, head raised and trying his hardest to look dignified as he stood up and tired to brush the dirt from his trousers and tunic.

“… hi.”

Little Aragorn ventured and then repeated his greeting with a stronger voice and a hurried bow.

“Hi! Estel Erondion at your service!”

“Hello Estel.”

Frodo smiled kindly at him and holding out strawberry. When little Aragorn took it, he let his smile turn mischievous.

“Caught you.” He stated and was rewarded with an indignant squawk of surprise.

Chapter Text

Frodo laughed lightly at little Aragorn's offended face and put on a conspiratorial expression.

"We hobbits are the best at sneaking, even better than elves." He whispered loudly lifting his right hand to his face as if he intended to whisper into it.

Little Aragorn's eyes grew round and big.

"Even better than elves?" He whisper-yelled. "That means you can sneak better than my bothers?" Looking quite sceptical, he moved closer and sat down beside Frodo.

"Yes, better than your brothers. Do you want to know, how I know?"

Little Aragorn nodded wide-eyed.

"Earlier, I caught Elrohir dyeing Elladan and Glorfindel's shirts puce!"

"Nooo!" Giggled Aragorn, delighted. "Dan is going to be sooo annoyed!"

Aragorn put the strawberry down and clapped his hands, apparently used to such antics from his brother.

"Yes! He also made me help him, but don't tell on me!"

Frodo enjoyed the innocent reactions of his little, old friend very much. Children's reactions were always pleasantly less complicated than adults'. Seeing his chance to strike up a quick friendship with Aragorn again, he continued.

"He even said that we are going to be great friends. And he might be right about that, he is very nice. Seeing you seem even nicer, how about we will be friends, too?"

"Really?" Little Aragorn blushed and looked away apparently suddenly feeling shy.

"I ... I have never met a hobbit before. So at first I thought you were a child like me and I followed you. But you are not, right?"

Frodo nodded.

"I am fifty years old, quite middle-aged."

Aragorn fidgeted.

"And you still want to be friends with me?" He asked, voice growing quieter as he spoke, his face showing tentative hope.

"Yes, certainly I want to be friends. If you want me to be. I can't say how long I will stay in Rivendell, because our leader Mister Oakenshield decides that. But for as long as I am here, I will be your friend. And afterwards I will try to visit you, if I can."

Frodo smiled and held out his hand.

A big smile bloomed on Aragorn's little face and he reached with both of his hands for Frodo's right.

"Yes, please! I never had a hobbit friend before and there are so terribly few new people in Imladris!"

Aragorn pouted at the last part of his sentence.

"He was the most precious, well spoken child." Frodo couldn't help but think to himself, feeling his heart swell with affection for this tiny version of his old friend.

"Is that so? Well, then I suppose I could introduce you to my dwarves, after we finish this morning snack." He gave a mischievous smile.

Then he took one of the prepared halfs of his bread roll and passed it to Aragorn, causing the boy to let go of his hand.

"Really?!" Aragorn lost all of his remaining bashfulness and became excited again.

"I have it on good authority that dwarrows love children."

The good authority being his Bilbo, but Frodo didn't need to tell anyone about that. Apparently, there weren't too many little dwarrows around at any one time, which caused all dwarves to be very fond of children in general. And if you asked Frodo – or any hobbit – liking children was a good trait. Even Frodo, having no children of his own, enjoyed their company and regularly offered to keep an eye on his neighbours’ children during parties.

Meanwhile little Aragorn had taken advantage of his distraction and started to stuff the bread into his mouth seemingly trying to hurry his eating up, but only causing his cheeks to bulge like a hamster trying to squirrel away food. Frodo couldn't help but reach over and poke one of the chubby cheeks with an index finger. Very cute. Not being able to protest, Aragorn made an offended noise again, causing Frodo to laugh at him a little. However, instead of commenting on little Aragorn's eating, Frodo just handed him the remaining glass of milk and then started on his own half of the bread roll. After he had made quick work of it, meaning he was certainly faster than Aragorn with his stuffed cheeks. Frodo divided up the strawberries and amusedly watched his little friend try to swallow the too large amount of bread in his mouth.

“Oh my heart.”

When eventually Aragorn managed to swallow this food, he frowned softly and turned back to Frodo.

"Why did you say morning snack?"

He reached for a strawberry with cream.

"Hm?"

"You said, you will introduce me to your dwarrows after our morning snack."

"Did I now?"

Aragorn nodded and stuffed another strawberry into his mouth.

"Well, I am a hobbit and we hobbits eat seven meals a day, if we can. So this would be first breakfast. Secondly breakfast would follow in a short while. Anyway, I hardly think strawberries and cream can be called a full breakfast."

Frodo laughed at the incredulous expression that had appeared on Aragorn's small face during his explanation.

"Sooo much?"

"Yes. So much." Frodo finished his tea and set the cup back on its tray.

"Now." He took the bowl with the remaining cream and the oats. "If you are finished, we will go by the kitchen to give back the tray and then we may go and meet my dwarrows." Frodo said and finished the bowl with a few quick bites.

Aragorn quickly swallowed his last strawberry and hopped off the bench.

"Done!"

They took the tray, brought it back to the kitchen and after a few kind words with the kitchen staff – little Aragorn's presence amusing them greatly –, Frodo and Aragorn went back to the guest rooms the dwarves were staying in. By the time they reached the corridor where the company’s rooms were located Aragorn started to look a little shy again. He stopped Frodo from opening the door.

"Do you really think your dwarrows want to meet me? " He started to fidget a little. "I won't be a bother?"

"Too precious." Usually being entirely immune to big eyes and round faces thanks to his cousins and their hordes of little faunts, Frodo felt a little helpless. "Maybe it's because I have never before met a child version of one of my dearest friends, seeing most of them are not born yet, but I get the feeling that if he tried hard enough, he could literally ask anything from me. Including that abnormity that usually tries to pass as inconspicuous jewellery. Bless your heart, Aragorn. I never thought I would even be able to think that and really mean it. Things are looking up a bit."

Frodo pressed his hand into the place where his old shoulder wound should be and then went to assure his little friend.

"I am very sure, but if you like, we will knock and see what they say. How about that?"

He moved closer and poked Aragorn's right cheek again to distract him. This drew a short giggle from the boy and he looked a bit surer of himself. However he still reached for Frodo's hand, before he agreed.

"OK."

"This might just be the most adorable thing that has happened to me in this life."

Frodo smiled at Aragorn and then went up to the door, taking Aragorn along with him. He knocked with purpose. A call and then a bit of shuffling could be heard behind the door. After a short while it opened to reveal a slightly underdressed – meaning he was missing his usual armour and pointy metal bits – Dwalin. Seeing Frodo standing in the door, the grumpy expression on his face lifted somewhat and he turned back without giving Frodo the chance to say anything and called back into the room.

"Master Baggins is back!"

This caused an even louder shuffling, the sound of something or someone heavy falling down. Then the two princes came running up behind Dwalin. Due to the commotion Aragorn, being about the same height as a grown hobbit, moved to a safe distance and hid a bit behind Frodo's back, curiously blinking over his shoulder. The princes stopped behind Dwalin and Frodo could see the moment they realised he had brought child-sized company.

"Bilbo!"

"Master Boggins!"

They wailed, Fili "throwing" himself carefully at the hobbit, taking hold of his shirt and free arm. Kili seemingly followed after but took hold of Fili's shoulder as not to put too much pressure on his poor hobbit bones and healing bruises.

"Bilbo, we thought we lost you again!" Fili continued, sounding appropriately mournful and hid his face in the crook of Frodo's neck, so that he could turn his head and see little Aragorn.

"You were just GONE! Uncle would have been so disappointed with us!" Kili cried actually managing to make his eyes glisten with tears.

"We were supposed to make sure you were alright!" Fili continued to fake-cry into Frodo's shirt, keeping quiet. Frodo could hear amused whispers and laughter from inside the room.

"But you left, and... and you got caught by a Rivendell native! How can you leave and worry us so!"

At his brothers theatrics, Fili popped his head over Frodo's shoulder to wink and smile at Aragorn before turning his head back, hide his face and lowly call out Frodo's name, stressing the "o" in "Bilbo" until it sounded like a sob. His performance earned him a delighted if surprised laugh from the child. Seeing his chance, Kili moved around Frodo and Aragorn and lightly pushed them inside, dislodging Fili from his place on Frodo's shoulder and making Dwalin take a few steps back as they were shuffled into the room.

"Now that you are back, you just have to come in and introduce us to your native friend! I have never seen such a decent sized elf, usually they are as tall as trees!" Kili said as he closed the door behind them.

Then he turned to little Aragorn and bowed with a flourish. "Kili at your service, little Master!"

On Aragorn's other side Fili mirrored his brother and bowed even more extravagantly. "Fili at your service, little Master!"

In the background Dwalin waved awkwardly clearly unsure whether he should approach further and risk scaring the child.

"Ah! Estel Elrondion… ." Aragorn stopped for a moment unsure how to introduce himself correctly to the dwarves. Then he decided and bowed. "... at your service! Mae Govannen. Thank you for having me!"

Further back, Dori, Gloin and Bifur practically melted at the cuteness of his introduction. But before more members of the company could decide to introduce themselves and confuse poor Aragorn, Frodo decided to point the individual dwarves out to him.
"See? Quite welcome." Frodo smiled at his little friend. "Now, there are many dwarrow in this room."

An offended noise came from deep inside the room, sounding suspiciously like Bofur.

"Now, now lad, no need to be insulting! If you think this is a crowd you'll have to come and visit the Blue Mountains! I'll even show you around!"

"Did you hear something, Estel? You have quite the strange winds in Rivendell, nearly sounding like voices.”

Frodo decided to poke a little bit of fun at Bofur making Aragorn grin.

"Anyway, as I was saying, Estel. Many dwarrow. I will point them out to you, but don't fear, I am sure the will also introduce themselves to you later."

Frodo pointed at Bofur, who was protesting Frodo's dig at him and shaking his fist playfully in their direction.

"The one with the floppy hat, wiggling like someone put ants in his trousers is called Bofur." He said, causing Aragorn to giggle and Fili and Kili to howl with laughter.

"The one beside Bofur with the ax in his head is Bifur. He doesn't speak common but he is very nice and makes the very best toys."

Bifur waved at them, looking pleased. Wanting to say nice things about the company that were easy to remember, Frodo thought for a moment.

"The one beside them, with the very hobbit-ty handsome round shape is Bombur."

Bombur blushed a bit at Frodo's description, not used to compliments and waved.

Aragorn waved back at them, nodded to himself and muttered quietly "Bofur, Bifur, Bombur. " under his breath.

Frodo pointed at Dori. "That is Dori. He makes the best tea and always has a very fancy and neat braided hairstyle. Beside him, with the book, is his littlest brother Ori. He is a scholar and you will only rarely see him without a book. Very clever. They have another brother, whom we are missing right now, because he is as good at sneaking as your brother Elrohir. But if you ever see a dwarrow with a hairdo like a star that will be him."

Dori and Ori waved and smiled at little Aragorn, who waved back and muttered "Dori, Ori, Nori".

Frodo pointed to Gloin next.

"The one with the very red hair and luxurious beard is Gloin. If you ask him he can tell you interesting stories about his son, who is apparently quite mischievous. I am sure you will be great friends when you meet."

Frodo smiled a little nostalgic smile to himself.

"His brother is the one, who is looking at the plants outside. You can see him through the window. His name is Oin. He is a very good healer."

"Like Ada!" Aragorn exclaimed and waved at Gloin. Quieter he repeated "Gloin, Oin."

"This, right in front of us is Dwalin. He might look a bit grumpy-" Fili and Kili started laughing again. "- but if you need help, he is the best to go to. And he also has a big sweet tooth and likes cookies very much. On the sofa back there, with the white hair and beard, is his older brother Balin. It is best to listen to him, because he can talk circles around you until you do exactly what he wants you to and think it is your own idea. He also gives the best advice."

Balin gave a sitting sort-of bow and Dwalin had gone a bit pink around the ears. Nodding and waving again, Aragorn repeated their names.

"Now, these two ruffians have already introduced themselves." Frodo gestured to Fili and then to Kili, smiling fondly.

"Fili has got the blond hair and Kili the dark one. You will usually see them together. They tell the best jokes."

Frodo winked at Aragorn.

“That over there beside Balin is their uncle. Thorin Oakenshield, the esteemed leader of our company.” Frodo managed to keep his sarcasm mostly to himself. “He might be a bit grumpy, but he is only trying to keep us save.”

Frodo smiled at the room and gave everyone a meaningful look. “Estel here found me when I was getting first breakfast from the kitchens. He has never met dwarves but I promised him you all are very nice so he wanted to meet you.” Frodo gave Estel a little nudge. He looked questioningly at the little boy and when Aragorn nodded he let go of the boys hand so he could go with Fili and Kili to meet the company.

With little Aragorn was now otherwise occupied, Frodo went over to sit by Balin and their esteemed Grumpiness.

“Before you two start, that is Elrond’s foster son and descendant of his twin brother. If Elrond didn’t trust you, I sincerely doubt that Estel would be here. So I suggest you offer Master Elrond the minimum courtesy of not flaunting that you do not trust him, with our safety or otherwise.” Frodo said in a low voice.

Beside him Master Oakenshield puffed up like an angry cat. But right in the moment when he made to snap at Frodo, he was interrupted by his nephews’ happy laughter. That seemed to make him reassess his initial reaction, as the dwarf visibly stopped himself and started deflating.

“Noted, Master Baggins.”

Frodo could see the muscles work in their resident storm cloud's jaw. “Uh oh, what did happen to make him angry now?”

“I will be civil to the elves and in return, from now on you will always inform a member of the company before vanishing into thin air.” Master Oakenshild’s hands clenched and unclenched as he appeared to fight with himself. “My nephews might have made a joke out of it, but I was about to put together a search party to find you. You do have a history of vanishing and ending up in danger, so do not worry the company unnecessarily.”

The dwarf pinned him with a disgruntled stare.

“That is … surprising. It probably cost him a lot of effort.”

Frodo could see Balin’s hopeful expression over their Grumpiness’ shoulder and decided to recognise Thorin’s effort to communicate without creating a conflict, as the olive branch it was.

“I promise to inform one of the company before leaving on my own.”

Seeing that Master Oakenshield was trying, Frodo could also work on himself. After all he didn’t used to be like this. Sure, he had always enjoyed a good argument, but there hadn’t been any bitterness and anger behind it. Not like it was now, if Frodo didn’t take very good care to check himself. So, Frodo would play nice and maybe it would become a natural reaction again.