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Chapter Text

Erebor had been growing stronger each day and the letters from the king had been arriving at about weekly intervals since Bilbo returned to Bag End. Each time he got one, he smiled at the scratchy handwriting and coal smudges on the edge of the paper. That big oaf hadn’t stopped working in the furnaces since he got back to his mountain and back to full health, and each letter he sent was filled with happy stories and a certain joy he hadn’t seen in Thorin when they first met. And as much as he missed their little adventure, Bilbo had found himself going on many others with the new young one in his care.
Frodo had lost enough and even though the fun loving days were not necessarily the best way to raise a well adjusted boy, Bilbo thought it’d be best to give the lad some joy in these days because he had enough sorrow in his little years to last countless lifetimes. And with the warming summer, it was the perfect time to fill the home with good memories and smiles.

Enough of the neighborhood children had been coming around since Bilbo finished There and Back Again. They all just adored the tale of the great dragon and the dwarves' treasure. And Bilbo wrote to Thorin about the book. He seemed to love the idea of it too. But recently, as the first scent of summer drifted across the air, the letters became less common. When they did arrive, they lacked that signature scent of soot from their author’s hand. But, Bilbo paid it no mind, dismissing it with the explanation that he was a king after all and their adventure had long since ended. And yet, he still found himself waiting by the mailbox each day, hoping for yet another letter from Erebor.
Frodo asked about the letters too. He saw the fancy seal on them and knew before Bilbo could fully explain (most likely because of that nosy wizard that liked to poke his hat into Bag End every now and again). And every time a letter did come, Frodo would ask to read it with Bilbo. He always got so excited by them. And that day was no different.
The two had just finished their elevenses and were gathering the gardening tools to tend to that day's chores when the mail carrier arrived, bringing the letter straight to the door, oddly enough.

“Is your uncle around, Frodo?” he asked the bright eyed boy that had opened the door.

Frodo nodded and ran back to the kitchen, tugging on his uncle’s shirt. “You’ve got a letter and it’s one of the fancy ones!” he said excitedly.

Bilbo followed him back to the door, smiling. “Thank you, porter. Would you like a scone? We just made a batch this morning,” he offered, taking the envelope from the mailman.

“Ah, no thank you, Mr. Baggins, I have more letters to deliver, but I’ll save the offer for later. Have a wonderful day and good luck in the tomato contest this year. I hear Lobelia is gunning for your title.”

“Aunt Lobelia has nothing on our tomatoes, Mr. Porter!!” Frodo said, quite excitedly. “I’ve been helpin’ with ‘em all spring!”

“And I’m sure they’re lovely, Frodo. Good day to you all.”

“And a good day to you too. Thank you for the letter!” Bilbo called after him as the porter walked back out the front gate and to the road, waving. “Now, let's see what kind of fancy letter we’ve got this time, Frodo.”

Frodo nodded, running over to the kitchen table and climbing up into the seat beside Bilbos. “Who’s it from?”

“Well,” he said, sitting down next to his nephew. “Based on the gold around the edge of the envelope and the very fancy ink, I’d say from our good friend King Thorin.”

At the name, Frodo lit up, jumping up in his seat a little and flapping his hands in excitement. “Open it, open it!”

“I am, don’t you worry,” Bilbo said with a laugh, gently tearing open the gold embossed paper. He slipped the letter out into his hand, unfolded it, and began to read aloud.

“‘Dear Mr. Baggins’ oh well, that’s awfully formal, don’t you think?”

“Keep reading, I wanna know what it says!”

“Alright alright, keep your marbles in their bag. The letter’s not going anywhere.” After a small breath, he continued. “‘I would like to inform you that I am no longer king of Erebor.’”

Now it was Frodo’s turn to interrupt. “What?!”

“Hush, let me read it, I’m sure he will explain.”

“‘I have given up the power to my dear cousin, Dain, who is much more fit and much happier to rule than I am. And as much as I’m sure it worries the young Frodo, I won’t be going anywhere. Well, I will. But not away. I plan to visit you sometime soon, if it’s not an inconvenience. You had told me such wonderful stories of the summer time in Hobbiton that I started to want to see it for myself. And, well, with my newly replenished free time, I thought I might take the chance to see what a ‘real summer’ is, as you put it. I hope this isn’t too abrupt or intrusive, and I hope that I’ll be welcomed with the promise that I won’t destroy your pantry as we did before.
And again, if it isn’t too much, Fíli and Kíli have been dying to come visit and I fear if I go without them, I’ll be the one that goes to the great halls.
By the time this letter arrives, we should already be on our way and within a few week's distance. Thank you for your time, I hope to see you soon,
Your friend, Thorin Oakenshield’”

Frodo just stared at the letter for a moment, his mouth hanging open slightly. Bilbo just smiled at the dazzle in his nephew’s eyes. “Well, it seems we’ll be having some guests soon.” Frodo didn’t respond, but rather jumped down from his chair, running through the doors of Bag End, making noises of pure excitement. Bilbo simply smiled out of a mix of his own happiness and seeing the joy in Frodo’s eyes. He was glad to be able to see his old companion (which fit him better than friend, because, if we faced the past with all honesty, they were more than friends during their quest), and he was even happier to have him when Frodo was so little and so wrapped up in the world of heroes and villains. Knowing how gray the world was, it was nice to see such a pure view on it. And Bilbo was glad to fuel that purity as long as he could.

Once Frodo tired himself out from running circles around Bag End a good few times, the two gathered their gardening supplies and went out back to tend to their other duty of the summer. The tomatoes.
They had been growing and caring for this one batch since the early spring. They were heirlooms and growing quite wonderfully. Prize winners, as his father would have said. Stomach fillers, would be his mother’s comment. But either way, they were both right. Bright red, with shining coats, covered in splotches of bright yellow and soft green near the base, with lumps and bumps for ages. The perfect fruit for a summer festival.
Lobelia had always come in second. Always the second place tomato. But after last year’s fiasco (Frodo dropped a basket of her “best” strawberries, which were rather bland in Bilbo’s opinion), she had sworn she would get back at them. She would take the title Bilbo had kept for years now. He had the best tomatoes in Hobbiton. In all of the Shire, really. He had kept that name for himself since he inherited Bag End. It was his father’s name after all. And no one would sour it, especially not Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

Chapter Text

The letter was right. It only took the 3 Durin’s about another week to show up in Bag End, led by none other than Gandalf the Gray, who was traveling through with his signature pack of fireworks to sell for the summer. All 4 were very eagerly greeted by the squealing of a young hobbit who promptly ran to the back garden as soon as he saw Gandalf's tall hat coming over the hill.

“Uncle!!! Uncle uncle they’re here they’re here!!!!” he shouted from the side of the house.

As soon as Bilbo stood up, Frodo ran back to the front lawn, followed closely by his uncle (who was moving far too slow for his taste). Bilbo waved at the group as they came up to the gate, but the wave was cut short by Kíli nearly toppling Bilbo in a hug. Followed by Fíli doing the exact same. “Hi, you two, it’s been a while.”

“Too long, Mr. Boggins. We missed you!” Kíli smiled, stepping back to let the hobbit breathe.

“Baggins, Kee.”

“I’m going to keep calling him Boggins. And you must be little Boggins!” he said, turning to Frodo, who was absolutely beaming. Both boys seemed to become occupied with the lad, leaving both uncles and the wizard to do their own greetings.

Bilbo just smiled as he approached the gate where that old companion stood waiting. His embrace was much gentler than the boys but just as warm. “You smell like a blacksmiths’,” the hobbit mumbled from his position at the dwarf’s chest.

“Probably because I’ve been working in one since they opened back up.”

“How’s that been going, by the way? I noticed the soot on almost every letter you sent.”

Throin chuckled a little at the mention. “It was never intentional. I just decided to write my letters when I thought of you and that happened mostly after work.”

“Well, now you don’t have to worry about writing, since you’re here finally,” Bilbo said, stepping out of the hug and putting his hands around Thorin’s face. The two stayed like that for a moment or so before Bilbo got pulled away by Frodo calling for him again. “Why don’t you all come in, we’ll get your bags settled and I’ll start on dinner.”

“But it’s only 4:00?” Fíli said, asking more than stating.

“And supper is at 9:00, but dinner is at 5:30.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Supper is usually a stew or a roast, and it’s meant to be when you go inside for family time,” Frodo said, smiling. He was trying to help with one of the bags but couldn’t quite pick it up. So, he ended up on one of Fíli’s shoulders as they walked in through the green door. “And dinner is lighter, and usually for right before story time.”

“When’s story time?”

“9:30, right before bed.”

“Does it always have to be at 9:30?” Kee asked, probably carrying one too many bags.

“Yes.”

Bilbo smiled at Frodo’s short response. “If it’s any later, then everything is messed up. We have a schedule for a reason, don’t we Frodo?”

“Yes! It’s very important.”

The sternness in his tone made the boys giggle a little before they both agreed to abide by the little lad’s schedule.

Once Frodo had shown the boys every room in the house and told them what was ok to touch and what wasn’t, the three of them went outside to mess around in the creek and look for rocks, as Frodo had said, leaving Thorin and Bilbo to the kitchen. Gandalf had promised to keep an eye on the three, soothing the minor worry that bubbled up in Bilbo’s chest at the idea of sending Frodo off near water with just the boys.

“That little tyke sure has a lot of rules,” Thorin commented as Bilbo handed him a small bag of potatoes. “Do you need me to wash these?”

“If you don’t mind. And yes, he does, but it’s the way we work around here,” Bilbo replied, starting to peel a few carrots. “I get him up at the same time, we eat at the same time, we garden at the same time. It’s all an important routine.”

“Fee was like that when he was little. If anything was slightly off, he’d throw a fit.”

“Ah yes, I’m very used to those by now. But, we’ve gotten the hang of it. And he’s gotten better at saying when he feels out of control so we can sit down and work through it without the tears.”

Thorin laughed a little to himself as he ran the water over the first few potatoes. His laugh was always so warm. Like a distant roll of thunder that you hear from in front of the fireplace, where you know the storm’s chill can’t reach you. “You’re much better at this than I ever was.”

“It is nowhere near as smooth as I make it seem. We both have our bad days, and we both work through them together. In fact, we still have some scones from our last bad day.”

“You bake when you have bad days?”

“It gives us both something else to focus on. And a nice little treat afterwards.”

Thorin just nodded, passing the now washed and dried potatoes to Bilbo who started to peel them. Thorin took down a cutting board and with the now peeled carrots, sat down at the table, cutting them up into pieces without much of a word. “Now, I know what your bad days are, but what are his?”

“Well, the reason he lives with me is because both his parents died in a pretty bad accident. And they named me as his caretaker.”

“Ah so bad dreams?”

“More often than not, sadly. Have yours been getting better?” he asked, stopping his peeling to pull out a big pot and setting it on the stove. He filled it with water and a good bit of salt before turning the stove on to let it boil and then went back to peeling the potatoes.

“Somewhat. Dís makes me keep a journal of them so she can help me talk through it all.”

“Good, because Yvanna knows you won’t talk about it on your own,” he teased.

Thorin chuckled a little as he got up to get a few more vegetables to cut. “I assume we’re making a stew, like the tyke said?”

“That we are. He usually helps but I figured he seemed more interested in showing the boys his little world. Plus I have you to help me.”

“That you do. He seems to know me pretty well already, I’m guessing from your story?”

“And you’d be right. He likes me to read bits of it to him every night. When we got your letter, he ran circles around the house for a good 10 minutes.”

At that, Thorin let out a full belly laugh. “That excited, huh?”

“Oh, he told all his friends about it. How the great King of Erebor was coming to stay. The Gamgee’s son offered to make you a little flower crown to replace your other one,” Bilbo replied, not really able (nor wanting) to hold back a laugh. “You’re a well known man in the shire. At least to the children.”

“I’m glad to know my reputation precedes me. I hope it’s a good one.”

“It is nothing short of wonderful. Here, put those veggies in the broth and start on the potatoes for me, please.”

Thorin smiled, standing up and bringing the cutting board of crisp vegetables over to the stove. And as he passed, he stole the chance to lay a small kiss on the top of Bilbo’s head, which was met with a gentle hand on his cheek. “This is a nice way to live, you were right.”

“Of course I was right, I’m a hobbit. And I’d love for you to stay, you know. It’d be easier than all the letters.”

“I assume the boys would be free to come and go?”

“As long as they don’t cause too much of a ruckus.”

“Then I would love to.”

“Wonderful. Now, potatoes please, so I can start boiling them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Supper went off easily, with Frodo talking on and on about the things they found in the creek. He pretty quickly started calling Fíli and Kíli ‘Fee’ and ‘Kee’, which they both adored (since it was their own childhood nicknames for one another). And just as quickly, they started making up ideas of what to do in the morning. Paint rocks they found, play games out in the forest, all things Frodo loved to do, and all things the boys were over the moon excited to be a part of.
The winds in Bag End had started to shift to a new time. A new life, almost. But a very very good one at that.

The night ended with servings of pasta followed by a pudding, which Gandalf stayed for and parted soon after. He promised to be back by the summer festival to see the final showdown between the Baggins and the Sackville-Baggins.
Frodo had fallen asleep during that night's story, firmly planted on Kee’s lap, who also happened to be fast asleep. Fíli wasn’t fairing much better, nearly dreaming by the time Bilbo picked Frodo up to bring him to bed. Thorin did the same to his own nephews, wishing them a goodnight before meeting Bilbo again by the fire.

“I’d call that a successful night, wouldn’t you?” he said as the hobbit walked in from the hall.

“I would. I’m glad I made extra, I had no idea those two could eat that much,” Bilbo replied, taking a seat next to Thorin on the sofa.

“A hobbits diet versus a dwarfs appetite. A battle for the ages, I’ll tell ya. It is very much a wonderful life you have.”

“Well I’m glad you’re willing to join me in it.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to have me.”

“After all we’ve been through? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Text

Bilbo woke up to a warm bed with a heavy arm wrapped around him. It was such a comforting feeling, especially being back in his own bed. The soft snoring from the bear of the person beside him put a smile on his face. Carefully, he slipped out of the hold, lightly kissing his companions cheek before getting dressed himself and going to wake up the youngest in the home. He had to move Thorin’s cane as he left the room. As strong as he was, the injuries from the final battle had left their mark. But it didn’t dampen his spirit in the slightest. The cane made him look more whole, in a way.
It was beautifully carved with depictions of beasts and battles alike, all intricately and delicately put into the dark oak wood. The handle had a simple cross texture and a knitted cover with a deep green color.

Once Bilbo was up, he took himself to his nephew’s room to gently wake the young lad who was somewhat awake already, but still in his bed. He helped Frodo pick out what to wear for a day outside before leaving to meet him in the kitchen to start on their daily routine. It was breakfast. Which meant Frodo would cut up fruit and make it into a little medley while Bilbo made hash from the unused potatoes from the night before.

The next to be up was Thorin, who came into the kitchen leaning heavily on his cane with a warm smile on his face. He strided over to the table, sitting down by the window, just watching.

“Good morning, Mr. Thorin,” Frodo said. “Why do you have a cane?”

“Frodo, you know it’s impolite to ask people that.”

“You said it’s impolite to ask strangers that kinda thing. Mr. Thorin isn’t a stranger.”

“It’s alright, Bilbo, I don’t mind it,” Thorin said. “You know that big battle at the end of the story your uncle always tells?”

“Yeah? It’s called the Battle of the Five Armies.”

“Well, I got really hurt because of that fight. I’m ok now but my legs don’t work as well so I need a cane to help me walk.”

“It’s a pretty cane.”

“It is, my friend made it for me before I left.”

“Which friend?”

“If I had my guess, Frodo, I’d say it was Dwalin.”

“The one with all the tattoos on his head!”

Thorin smiled, nodding to both statements. “Yes, Dwalin made it from an old oak that was growing on the mountain.”

“Is it like our oak tree?” Frodo asked, stopping his fruit slicing, looking up at the dwarf sitting across from him at the table.

“I don’t have the slightest idea, little guy. But, I know one branch of that tree was twice your height and probably 3 times as heavy. But nowhere near as curious.”

Frodo laughed at the funny voice Thorin was doing. “Trees can’t think, of course it isn’t, Mr. Thorin.”

“Well, you never know. I’ve heard stories about trees that can walk and talk.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, we can talk about them during breakfast but I think your uncle needs your help first.”

“Ok!” the little one said, intently going back to his duty of cutting up the fruits and putting them into a bowl.

“I think we might be the only ones up for a little while, the boys aren’t usually up until later.”

“They can have second breakfast with us if they’re not up for first breakfast,” Frodo said, bringing the bowl of fruit over to Bilbo.

“Good to know they won’t miss out on too much.”

“Dwarves are funny. You guys don’t eat enough and don’t go outside enough.”

“We like the rocks more than the dirt.”

“I like rocks a lot, but I like the creek ones. They’re smooth.”

“River rocks are very pretty. Do you have any?”

“I have a whole collection! Do you wanna see?”

“I would love to,” Thorin replied. Frodo hopped up, grabbing one of Thorin’s hands (although his hand only fit around one of the dwarf’s fingers) and led him to his room, with a shelf full of rocks.

The two spent a good half hour talking about rocks, in between bites of breakfast. And despite Bilbo’s reminder about manners, neither of them paid any mind. The rocks were much more interesting.
The other two dwarves stumbled out into the kitchen around 9:00, just in time for the second meal of the day, which they both happily ate, although through mostly shut eyes. Frodo had more to say about his rocks, and more of it to say to the boys. Fee was still mostly asleep, only really nodding along, but the younger of the two, who was much more awake, perpetuated his uncle’s habits and talked about rocks through bites of food. Much to Bilbo’s dismay.

Once the breakfast dishes were put up and the neighborhood children had convened in the front lawn of Bag End (with the addition of two young dwarves who were acting as ponies for the small hobbits), Bilbo retreated to the garden with Thorin to tend to some of his plants.

“It’s so… green here. I’m not used to it.”

“You will be soon. I don’t know how you all live without any sunlight for as long as you do.”

“Warmth from the belly of the earth is plenty.”

“Yes, but firelight isn’t the same. There’s just something about it. It’s alive, almost.”

“You’ve told me about that before. Are these the famous tomatoes Frodo was going on about?” Thorin asked, walking over to the patch of vines with red fruits ripening on them.

“Oh, did he tell you about them? Yes, they are. My father always grew them for the summer festival, and since he passed, I’ve kept the legacy. Bag End has the best tomatoes in all the Shire.”

“They look like rubies.”

Bilbo just laughed. “Dwarves.”

“What?”

“If they were anything like your precious stones, I would have lost my title a long time ago.”

“I prefer emeralds, thank you very much.”

“Then you’d love Lobelia’s blueberries. Green, hard, and bitter.”

His insult produced a loud laugh from thorin. It matched his voice. Warm and rough and deep. A fire during a thunderstorm. The laugh lasted for a moment before Thorin asked a question. “That name sounds familiar, is she the one that stole your spoons?”

“She is! And she still has them,” replied Bilbo, with a great bit of cheer in his voice. Thorin started to laugh again with the added detail. He couldn’t help but smile just at the thought of having his companion there. That word, whenever he thought of it or heard it, always reminded him of Thorin. They were much more than friends, that much was clear. But it still fit. They were by each other's sides for any part of life and glad to share it with one another. Even when that part of life was in struggle or in pain, they were glad to be there for the other. A perfect companion in life. Bilbo caught himself staring at his dwarven companion for a minute but neither really minded it, because Thorin was staring back with a soft smile on his face. “You have a wonderful smile.”

“I do? Dís says it looks like a grizzly’s.”

“Well, you snore like a grizzly, but you smile like a father, if that makes sense.”

“I think it does.”

“You think?”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll make it make sense.”

“Lovely.”

Their peaceful moment was interrupted by a shout from the front yard. By the time Bilbo got around there, Hamfast Gamgee had already come out to help. Sam and Frodo were up in the oak tree, as was Kíli, who looked more terrified than the younger two boys. Fíli was on the ground, covered in stray branches and leaves, with Merry and Pippin by his side, laughing themselves silly. “Now what in Yvanna’s name are you all doing?” Bilbo asked, walking over to the tree. “How did you get up there, Frodo?”

“We made a ladder out of Fee and Kee!”

Sam giggled a little as Frodo explained. Meanwhile, the other two were on the ground, distracted by something else, only to be pulled back by Fíli, met by more laughter. Bilbo just sighed and shook his head with a small smile, walking over to the tree. “Do you all need help getting down?”

“No, we got it!” Frodo said, quickly climbing down the great oak, followed by Samwise.

“I… I need help, Mr. Boggins.”

Chapter Text

After the noon meal, the boys had seemed to settle down, opting to follow Frodo and Sam’s lead in small crafts and little things to do during the warmth of midday. Bilbo had taken his pipe and found a seat on the front porch, watching the 4 of them play out in the grass, making little things out of leaves and branches. They were making small talk as they did, telling stories about different things they’ve all gone through. Fee ended up telling Frodo about all the treasures in Erebor, only to be met with a “But did they have honey cakes?”

“I mean. I guess? But there was enough gold to fill 3 Bag Ends, with some to spare.”

“You already said that. Gold isn’t important unless you can buy honey cakes and strawberries. And the good ones, not like Aunt Lobelia’s. Like Mr. Gamgee’s strawberries,” he said, smiling. “They’re really sweet and soft.”

“You don’t like Aunt Lobelia, do you?” Kee asked. He was sitting a little bit away, with his back against the front gate.

“No, she’s mean and stuck up and thinks she's better than everyone just cus she’s a Sackville-Baggins. She’s not, she’s actually worse. She thinks she deserves all the stuff uncle got just because she’s older. But our tomatoes are always going to be better.”

“Aren’t those like apples but not sweet?”

“No, they grow on vines too,” Fee added, giving one final touch to his small stick sculpture.

“...have you never had a tomato before?” Frodo asked, in utter awe and minor shock.

“Nope! They don’t grow super well on the mountain.”

“Uncle, can we have tomato slices during tea time today?”

Bilbo, who had been watching the whole interaction, just nodded. “Then we’ll also get to see how they’re coming along for the festival.”

“What festival?” Kíli asked from the gate. He was laying down now, arms spread wide across the grass.

“The Summer’s Peak Festival!” Frodo replied, rolling down to Kee. “It happens every year, and it’s so much fun. The best part of summer, in my opinion.”

Fíli had joined the other two in a small pile at the edge of the yard. “Why’s that?”

“Well, because of a lot of things! We get to play games and taste all sorts of food from all over the Shire. Mrs. Gamgee makes the best pot pies I have ever had.”

“Even better than Mr. Boggins’?”

“Yes, even better than Uncle’s, Kee! They’re so good. She won’t tell anyone how she makes ‘em but Sammy says she uses animal stock in the dough so it’s more flavorful.”

“Amad used to make pot pies when Adad went into the mines.”

“Amad?”

“It means mother in Khuzdul,” Kee replied, clarifying for his little friend. “And adad never went into the mines, Fee? He was a blacksmith before the quest.”

“I don’t mean Uncle, Kíli. I mean our father.”

“Right. I forget about him sometimes. Is that bad?”

Fíli just shrugged. Frodo sat up, looking between the two of them. “You dad died too?”

“Yeah. Kee was really little.”

“Adad raised me for as long as I can remember.”

“My uncle is doing the same for me. My mom and dad drowned a year ago,” he said fairly matter of factly. “It’s ok now. I like living here with uncle. He always tells me stories and makes the nightmares go away.”

“Dang, that’s a lot, I'm sorry.”

“It’s better than almost losing a war, like you guys did.”

“We didn’t almost lose!”

“You almost died.”

“Yeah but we didn’t.”

“But you almost did.”

Their little back and forth went on for a little bit longer before devolving into talking about rocks yet again. Bilbo hadn’t paid the earlier bits much mind but based on Thorin’s face of worry, he had.

“The boy talks about it openly. I’ve tried to tell him he doesn’t have to but he doesn’t seem to mind it too much.”

“Fíli was like that for a while. When people asked about me or his mother, it was always so matter of fact for him. His father had died in an accident, and his mother’s brother was raising him instead. No tears, no fuss. Just something that happened. But once Kíli started calling me Adad, it all broke. The tears were nearly everyday, bad dreams on the nights he slept and when they weren’t there, it’s because he wouldn’t close his eyes.”

“I know his reaction isn’t his real one. And I know the worst is coming, but right now, I just want to make him smile as many times as I can before the gloominess sets in. For him, the world has a right and a wrong. I want to protect that for a while.”

Thorin just nodded, looking back at the three who were back to their crafts. “He’s a sweet boy.”

“That he is. I just hope I do right by him and his parents.”

“Oh I’m sure you will.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re the great Barrel Rider, remember?” he replied, clearly teasing.

Bilbo smiled, pushing away the worries that had started to cloud his mind. “That I am, King Under the Mountain.”

The two shared a small laugh, going back to watching the younger three play out in the grass.
Afternoon tea came soon and as promised, Bilbo sliced up a tomato and put them on a plate, letting the boys try them. Both of them were surprised by the textures and the flavors but ended up eating most of them from the plate.
And because Frodo needed a sweeter fruit for tea, Bilbo also sliced up some of the strawberries from the Gamgee’s garden.

It was a good day for the summer fruits.

Chapter Text

It was the 4th day of the Durin’s visit when Fíli and Kíli found another adventure to lure them away. They asked their uncle a good few times if it was ok for them to go, just to explore the area. Before they left, Frodo asked them to bring him back some nice rocks, and they both promised that they would. Bilbo insisted that they be back for the summer festival at the end of the month, and again, they promised they would be. And although Bilbo wasn’t there to hear it, he knew that Thorin shared his plans to stay in the Shire even after their visit. The boys seemed to take it well, leaving as they planned on their little adventure into the unknown parts of the Shire.

“Have they never been down this way before?”

“Not often or anytime they would remember,” Thorin replied as the two began the preparations for dinner. They had sent the boys off with a few sacks of food for the journey (enough for a hobbit, so plenty for a dwarf) and now were preparing the first evening meal for themselves, just as rain started to lightly patter against the windows. Bilbo was just watching over the pot while Frodo and Thorin were given the task of making cookies for tomorrow’s neighborhood meeting.

“Have you been down this way before?”

“Sometimes, when I still had the freedom to, I would take a trip to Bree. It was nice to get out and a good way for me to really understand what kind of allies I could have in the inevitable battle to come.”

“Allies you’d just cast out at the nearest chance?”

“Oh hush, you know I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“I know, I know, I’m just teasing,” Bilbo replied with a smile, lightly jabbing Thorin’s belly with his elbow. “But Bree is a nice place. I don’t go too often but the inn-keeper there is a good friend of mine. Lovely fellow.”

“As lovely as the Gamgee’s?”

“No one is as lovely as the Gamgee’s.”

“I’ve known them for not even a week and they are already so kind,” Thorin said. He was kneading cookie dough with Frodo, who was standing on his lap at the kitchen table, very focused on his cookie making. “What do you think of them, Frodo?”

“Sam is my bestest friend. He never gets upset when I talk a lot about rocks or maps. Plus he makes sure the other kids don’t pick on me about not having a mom or dad.”

“The other kids pick on you, Frodo?” Bilbo asked, turning from his cooking.

“Sometimes. But it’s ok, I never want to play with them anyways. Merry and Pip and Sam are all I need,” the little boy replied, smiling.

“Well, if they bother you again, let me know, ok?”

“I will, uncle, I promise.”

Bilbo just nodded, not turning away just yet. Frodo quickly went back to the dough, making more of a mess than progress but enjoying it still.

As the rain started to come down heavier, Thorin and Bilbo sat up by the fire, just to talk about the day. Frodo had been put to bed already, and was sound asleep to the rain, which helped.

“I had no idea the other children were being mean to him,” Bilbo said absentmindedly. He wasn’t really talking to anyone, more of to himself, but Thorin answered nonetheless.

“Children are like that a lot. I know kids picked on Kíli a lot because he could never grow a beard. Made the poor pebble feel awful. But his mother always marched down to those kids houses and gave them and their parents a talking to, so he always had someone. And Frodo has someone too.”

“But I can’t help if he won’t tell me. I would, you know. So would my mother, but still. I can’t if he doesn’t let me.”

“I didn’t mean you, khebabmudtu. I meant the Gamgee boy.”

The khuzdul word caught Bilbo’s attention, distracting him from the parental worry that had clouded his mind since dinner. “What was that word?”

“Khebabmudtu?”

“Yes, that, what does that mean? I know it’s Khuzdul, but I haven’t come across that one before.”

“It’s not an insult, if that’s why you’re wondering.”

“Why in Yvanna’s name would I think it’s an insult?” Thorin just shrugged. “Oh come on, you big oaf, what does it mean?”

“It means ‘forge of my heart’.”

Not really knowing what he expected, but knowing for certain it wasn’t that, Bilbo just smiled. The warmth of the fire seemed to fade in comparison to the warmth in his chest. It was such an odd term. ‘Forge of the heart’. But it wasn’t the heart, now was it. It was of his heart. Of Thorin’s heart. And that’s what made it so special. “Very sweet. And very dwarven.”

“It’s in Khuzdul, of course it’ll be dwarven.”

“Fair point. I’ll just call you love, how about that?”

“Sounds wonderful to me.”
______________________________________

The next morning was damp and a little cooler from the night's downpour but the sun was quickly burning the humidity off. After breakfast, the trio got ready for a meeting on the upcoming summer festival, much to Thorin’s confusion. But, despite not fully understanding, he came along anyway. He had pulled his hair back so he would seem more presentable to the hobbits around, but did nothing else to his beard. Eventually, Bilbo convinced him to at least brush it and rebraid it, so he did, and it did look much more pampered because of it.
Thankfully the walk wasn’t too far, so Thorin didn’t struggle too much. But most of the way, Frodo held the hand that wasn’t using the cane (even though his hand could only fit around one of Thorin’s fingers). They hit it off so well and so quickly that it surprised even Bilbo. Frodo wasn’t easy to gain the trust of but somehow the dwarven king who was no longer a king had done it within a week of meeting the boy.

As the trio got closer to the meeting center, more and more festival decorations came into view. Mainly flags strung up between trees and homes. They moved gently with each sigh of the wind and, as colorful as they were, painted the blue sky with a mosaic of pinks, yellows, greens, and reds. Thorin just scooped the boy up onto his shoulders, who in turn reached for each flag they passed by. And in Bilbo’s mind, everything felt perfectly right.

Chapter Text

The meeting tent was fairly full, with the scent of mixed baked goods wafting over. Thankfully, Bilbo had brought the cookies that Frodo had worked so hard on. They set them out on the table next to some wonderful looking tarts (most likely from some of the Took side of the Shire), before going back to join the group that was forming. There was a good bit of small chatter circling the groups, mostly about the upcoming festival, but soon, a word or two was caught about the strange visitor amongst them. Seradoc Brandybuck, one of the many Brandybucks of the shire (and young Merry’s father), took up the stand at the front of the meeting hall to officially begin the gathering. Since his family was often in charge of the Shire wide events, he was somewhat the unofficial party-business-manager and since there were many opportunities for a party in a Hobbit’s world, it was a very honored position.

“Hello friends! I hope this summer has been treating you well so far, and I hope the next few weeks are as exciting as we plan for them to be. On the docket for today's meeting is the long awaited Summer’s Peak Festival.”

His final words were met with some applause and excitement from the crowd, all eager for the celebration. Summer was warm but often left empty because of it. Without crops to tend to or wood to gather or other holidays to celebrate, the summer days droned on without much to count them by and, for a Hobbit, boredom was a fate worse than death (at least that’s what his mother would say). So, they tended to fill their days with otherwise meaningless celebrations. 6 months to the day since you planted your garden? A party would be in order for the half year harvest. Did your garden grow a rare flower color without you planting it? Well, thank Yvanna for that and bring out the wine because it was worth a dance or two.
Anything they could find a reason to celebrate, they would. And it made them a very merry people. But with every strength, there is a downfall. And the one that followed was something that came up at that very meeting.
Despite all the activities they made for themselves, Hobbits still needed something to discuss at those gatherings. And often, they’d end up discussing the petty drama that floated from burrow to burrow in the Shire. Now this wouldn’t often cause a ruckus, but when it comes from a certain person about another certain person, the repercussions could be some type of show.

That day was no different. And for once, the gossipers didn’t have to make up something to talk about. They just had to look at the taller, burlier, man standing besides the infamous Bilbo Baggins. The full beard was hard to ignore, especially with the small bits of glimmer braided into it. Bilbo noticed the stares from the Sackville-Baggins side of the room fairly quickly, but chose to ignore it, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good to confront her over. But Thorin didn’t have the same tact.

“We’re being stared at, khebabmudtu.”

“I noticed. Don’t pay it any mind, it’s just gossip.”

“Would it be better for me to go?”

“No, because they will talk either way. So, let them talk. She’s looking for honey by throwing rocks. The bees will come eventually.”

Thorin just looked confused for a moment before nodding. “Speaking of rocks and honey, where did Frodo run off too?”

“Probably to play with Merry, he’ll be alright.”

Thorin nodded again before his attention was drawn to another side of the tent. The side that Lobelia was on. “Are you sure? Because I feel like he’s about to cause some trouble for himself.”

Bilbo followed his gaze and just sighed. Frodo was peeking out from under the tent from the outside, with Merry, Pippin, and beloved Sam by his side. They were all looking up at the gossiper herself, clearly plotting something when she said something a bit louder than she had before. With a tone of disgust and a side glare towards Bilbo and his companion, she quite loudly said “Of all things, a dwarf. Like a bull in a china shop, but dumber.”

And upon hearing that, Bilbo could feel almost all the eyes shift to him and Thorin as a hush fell over the room. Either out of embarrassment or anger, his face got red but before he could say anything, the little one who had been hiding under the tent came out, pulling on Lobelia’s shirt to get her attention. And when he had it, he held everyone else’s gaze as well. “Well, I don’t really think you can say that, Aunt Lobelia.”

“And why not?”

“Because, for one, it’s wrong, and for two, it’s mean and you’re only supposed to judge a person if you know you’re better than them, according to uncle. And you’re not nearly as smart as Mr. Thorin. Or anywhere near as nice and gentle. He’s a lot funnier than you are too.”

Bilbo, in a mix state of shock and utter amusement, just grabbed Thorin’s hand and pulled him outside of the tent before promptly breaking into laughter. It was the kind of laughter you can’t control, where you’re leaning on something for support because your legs won’t hold you up as well as they ought to, but it’s still a laugh that fills every bit of you with warmth.
Then came a loud shriek followed by childish laughter and the sound of running footsteps. The boys had thrown something and were now running for safety from Lobelia who came storming out the front, soaking wet which only led to more laughter from Bilbo.

She came storming over, angrier than a cat left in a storm, and stared daggers at the both of them. “If you don’t get a handle on your nephew, I will make sure you’re held responsible for this little mishap.”

“And how are you going to do that, Lobelia? Spray me with your hose? Or would you rather dunk me in the lake like you seem to do with your cake, since you classify ‘moist’ as ‘sopping’?”

That seemed to shut her up. She left without another word but not before glaring her threats at Bilbo, who was fully unfazed by the interaction.

“Do you always insult her food?” Thorin asked as the two started to walk in the direction that the boys ran.

“Yes, because it hits close to home. The Baggins are well adjusted and measured hobbits, so it’s obvious we would make good cakes. But she has yet to live up to the name she married into.”

Thorin paused, smiling some. “You aren’t very well adjusted last time I checked.”

“Well I’m also a Took. And for a Took, boredom is a worse fate than death,” he replied, smiling just as much. Thorin laughed, nodding.

“That fits a bit better. The Took wins in you a lot, doesn’t it?”

“My mother convinced my father to go on a good few adventures, so the Took is quite strong.”

“Well I’m glad it is. We got to face a dragon together because of it.”

“And now I’m the whisper of the town for bringing a dwarf home along with a great deal of gold.”

“Is that really a bad thing?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Chapter Text

The evening rain returned after the meeting, just as supper was being set on the table, the rain started to lightly hit the windows. The sky had darkened significantly and the rumbles of thunder had only grown, but it was a nice summer rain that brought about more life and a break from the heat. And despite the loud thunder crashing through the night sky, it was cozy. Frodo didn’t go to sleep easily, sadly. But Thorin was well experienced in getting scared youngins to relax enough to sleep. Somehow, just by falling asleep himself.
Bilbo was gone for maybe a moment to get tea, and came back to the warm grizzly snoring from Thorin, and a peacefully asleep Frodo curled up on his chest. Bilbo just smiled, gently scooping up the little lad and bringing him to his own bed and tucking him in just as he always did. Once Bilbo was sure his nephew was safe in bed, he went back to his own companion who was sleeping away like a bear in winter.
He didn’t want to go to bed without Thorin and he didn’t want to wake the beast, so he just made himself comfortable on the couch beside him with a book and a cup of tea. The rain against the window plus the gentle crackling of the fire made for a perfect environment that took only moments to lull Bilbo to sleep, despite his fighting of it.

The next morning, Bilbo was greeted by his bed, and a snoring Thorin yet again. How he ended up there, he had no idea, but he didn’t mind. It was better for his back anyway. Once he was up and dressed, starting the daily movements with Frodo, there came an unexpected knock at the door. And while a knock wasn’t enough to ruin the simple pleasures of the morning, what came after it was.
Bilbo opened the door to a very worried Hamfast and after what was wrong, something horrible came to light.

“Hamfast? What are you doing here this early? Is something the matter?”

“Well, Bilbo. I… I was looking out my window this morning as I always do and it overlooks your garden, wonderful by the way, and I saw something distressing. Or, rather, it was what I didn’t see.”

“And that was?” Bilbo asked, trying to draw the point out of his neighbor.

“Did you take your tomato plants inside last night during the storm?”

“No, why?”

“Well, they aren’t out there.”

Bilbo froze as a sense of fear washed over his body. He didn’t notice Frodo running out towards the back door, but he heard the shout. It drew him from his trance as he followed out. And low and behold, where the vines that held the warm red fruits usually sat laid empty. It wasn’t that they had been trampled or ruined by the storm. No, they had been dug up. Roots and all. Someone had taken his tomato plants. Hamfast had followed them out back, as had Thorin, who had heard the scream and came out of his hibernation.

“Oh dear that’s… awfully worse than I thought,” Hamfast said, just as shocked as Bilbo but nowhere near as mad. “I’ll ask Samwise if he knows anything about this.”

“He won’t. I know who did it,” Bilbo said. “Lobelia has been awfully jealous and with the recent indoor shower she took, I think she finally had enough.”

“Uncle..?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“Are we going to have to withdraw from the competition?”

His voice was so sad, as if he was asking if he had to kill his own pet. But in this case, it was worse than the loss of a friend. It was a loss of pride. And by Yvanna, he was a Took and a Baggins. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Verbal or physical. “No, Frodo. No we are not. We’re going to get our tomatoes back.”

Frodo nodded, wiping the tears that had started to form in his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m going to go tell Sam, Merry, ‘n Pip. They can help, right, Uncle?”

“They sure can.”

“Mr. Gamgee, can I walk back with you?”

“Of course little lad,” replied the neighbor.

He said his farewell, wished Bilbo luck, and walked back to his own home with Frodo in tow, who had grabbed a map of Hobbiton on the way out. For planning purposes, he said.
Bilbo had just been left standing by the planter, in utter shock of what had happened.

“Now, I always expect some low blows from her but this is… this is unbelievable. She stole my tomatoes, Thorin. She came back here and stole them!”

“How do you know it was Lobelia?”

“Who else would it be? You heard what she said yesterday. Guess this is her yellow-bellied way of doing that.”

“Yellow-bellied?”

“Cowardly. And snake-like.”

“I thought that meant ‘lily-livered’?”

“Lily-livered is weak. Yellow-bellied is just cowardly and mean.”

“Ah. I’d just call her abrâfu shaikmashâz.”

“And what in heaven's name does that mean?”

“Descendant of rats.”

Bilbo didn’t respond immediately, but after a moment of letting the word process, he burst into laughter. “Snakes and rats, brothers in scams.”

“Until the snake gets hungry.”

“Would that mean it eats itself?”

“Snakes tend to do that.”

“They really don’t.”

“They don’t?”

Chapter Text

Frodo had taken a map of the shire from his uncle’s office before rushing over to the Gamgee’s house. He had a small backpack on with all the necessary essentials for a secret plot. Crayons, paper, rope, a few good sticks, and, of course, snacks. The choices he brought that day were blueberry scones, small cheese tarts, and apple slices that Bilbo had cut up for him.
Hamfast opened the door to let him inside the home, and he made a break for Sam’s room, where the young lad was reading.

“Sam! Sam! We have an emergency.”

“An emergency?” Samwise asked. “What kind of emergency?”

“The tomato plant’s been taken!”

“Taken?”

“Taken. Someone came into our garden and took our prize tomatoes! The whole plant, Sam!!”

“Oh dear,” he replied, getting up from his bed and gathering his gardening tools. “Where are Merry and Pip?”

“I haven’t gotten them yet. I was coming to get your help first.”

“I’ll have a look at the potting for the plant. See if the person left any spade marks.”

“The thief, you mean.”

Sam just nodded, following Frodo out the front of his house and down the way to the pond where Merry and Pippin often were found on the warmer days.
And by all luck, they were there as usual. “Hello Merry, hello Pippin.”

“Hi Frodo! What are you doing up here?” Pippin replied, smiling.

“Someone took Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo’s tomato plant.”

“The competition tomatoes?” Merry asked.

“And the whole plant?” added Pippin.

“Yes and yes,” replied Frodo, nodding as he said so. “Someone came into our garden and took our tomato plant.”

“I bet it was Lobelia. She was talking to my mother about how she was going to win this year,” Pippin said.

“That’s what uncle Bilbo thought too. And I need you guys’ help to get it back.”

Merry jumped up, bringing his hand to his forehead in a salute. Pippin tried to do the same but ended up using the wrong hand and bumping elbows with Merry and tipping over a little because of it.

The 4 ended up back at Bag End, each with a small bowl of strawberries and left over tarts. They were camped out in Frodo’s room, map spread out on the floor, crayons in hand.

“Aunt Lobelia’s house is here,” Frodo said, drawing a red circle around her plot on the map. “And our’s is here.” Followed by circling Bag End in a deep green color.

“So that means she would have had to walk all the way from the river's edge, to here. But only if she took the main roads,” Merry said, dragging his blue crayon along the winding, twisting, path he was talking about. He set down the blue color and picked up a purple one, drawing a straight shot between the red circle and the green one. “But, if she didn’t want to be seen, she could go through backyards and gardens. Plus, it’d be a lot quicker.”

“Why not just go and get it? What’s with all the planning?” Pippin asked, a half eaten crayon in hand. Frodo saw the red on his face and promptly took all the crayons out of his reach.

“Those are not for eating, Pip!”

“Then why are they so pretty?”

“Because they came all the way from Erebor! Please don’t eat them.”

“You owe me some strawberries for it.”

Sam put a hand on Frodo’s shoulder, hearing the shaking in his voice. “We can steal some from her from her garden, Pip.”

Pippin nodded and then stopped. “But her strawberries are gross.”

“But you can steal them.”

“That’s a good point. So are we going to get to this or just look at the map?”

“The map is going to help, Pip.”

“And how will it do that, Merry?”

“If we know how she got in and out, we can figure out how to do the same. Does Mr. Uncle Bilbo lock the gate on the fence at night?”

Frodo just shook his head, so Sam answered for him. “Ours are really close and our little Pumpernickel watches over them.”

“Would she know to bark?”

“She’s not a dog, Merry. She’s a cat.”

“Never heard of a guard cat before.”

“Well now you have. And she’s awful good at it too. She was making up a fuss last night but I thought it was because of the thunder.”

“She probably saw Lobelia,” Frodo mumbled with his knees pulled to his chin. “How’re we supposed to get into her garden, though?”

“We can go in the middle of the night, like she did,” Merry said.

“Or, better yet, we can go while my mother is taking her to the market. They do it every week, same day, same time. And they’re gone all day too,” Pippin added.

“Perfect. We can get a cart, can’t we?”

“Our barn has a small one we can use,” Sam offered.

“Even better. We can hide the cart at Pip’s house. I can spend the night the day before and we can set up a time for you two to join us. Pippin will get us into the garden, Sam can dig up the plant, and Frodo, you’ll be look out. I’ll pull the cart, Sam will keep the tomato plant safe, and Pippin will erase any evidence. Sound good?”

With a small clamor of unified confirmations, Frodo stood up, smiling. “That settles it. Tomorrow, we are going to get uncle’s tomato plant back.”

With another round of cheers, the group of four began their preparations. Samwise ran back home to ask his father to borrow the cart and with the help of Merry and Pippin, hid it in Pip’s back garden. Right next to Lobelia’s. Frodo had come along and once they were all there, they saw what they were after. The tomato plant. It was Bilbo’s. Frodo knew that as soon as he saw it. With the confirmation, the 4 started to work faster, double checking each step as not to make any mistakes.
Merry was allowed to stay the night, and Pippin confirmed that his mother was leaving with Lobelia for a shopping trip the next day. At 12:00. Right after Elevenses. So Sam and Frodo would make their way over at 11:30 sharp, so they would have time to prepare.
All was set. The plan was now in motion. And as the sun set over Hobbiton for yet another day, Frodo had a determination in his heart that he wouldn’t feel for another 35 years or so. But that’s a different story for a different time.

He was utterly silent during supper, which prompted Bilbo to ask what was on his mind.

“A lot of things, Uncle. It’s a very important day tomorrow.”

“And why’s that, lad?” Thorin asked, hopping into the conversation.

“I can’t tell you. It’s a top secret operation.”

“Is it what you and the boys were doing earlier?” Bilbo pressed further.

“Yes. It’s very important. And I might get in trouble for it. So I can’t tell you until after.”

“If it’s breaking rules, then why are you going to do it?”

“Because it’s important. It’s very very important. Like Mr. Thorin’s quest! You’re not supposed to take things but it was his to begin with so he took it back.”

“Yes, but a mountain is a different issue, Frodo.”

“As is a dragon,” Thorin added, smiling at the mention of his quest.

“She’s a lot like a dragon! She took our tomato plant, uncle! We have to get it back!”

“Ah, so that’s what this mission is all about.”

“I know it’s not right, but it’s ours and she can’t just take it.”

“That’s right, Frodo. Just don’t get caught while you do it.”

“I won’t, uncle, I promise.”

“Good. Now eat. You’ll need to be ready for tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Frodo ate his second breakfast quite quickly the next day. Thorin hadn’t even fully finished his first by the time the little hobbit had his bag packed and was out the door on the way to his faithful mission.

“Excited little guy, huh?”

“Oh, very. He’s always wanted to be the hero,” Bilbo replied as he was washing up. “Always wanted to be just like Mr. Thorin.”

“I don’t see what’s so special about me.”

“Really? Well, there’s a whole book of reasons sitting in the study if you want to read up on why.”

“I think I’ll be alright. Never really cared for reading. Hurts my head.”

“A king who doesn’t read. I see why you handed the throne over. Too many papers to go over and not enough metal to work with.”

“Exactly,” the dwarf replied, standing up and bringing his now empty plate over to the sink. Wrapping one arm around the hobbit, he leaned over and kissed his cheek as he had done every morning since he got there. His moment of affection was met by a sudsy hand on his cheek. He laughed, wiping the white bubbles from his skin and blowing them back into the water. “Anything you want to do today now that the little tyke is off?”

“I was just going to garden a bit. Probably go into the market. What about you, oh king under the mountain?” Bilbo chuckled, drying his hands on the towel hanging by the sink.

“I was wondering if there was a blacksmith in town, actually.”

“There is. Feeling a bit too idle just hanging around?”

“Extremely.”

“Well, when we go into town today, I’ll introduce you to Smithy.”

“His name is Smithy?”

“His name is Gruffo Boffin, but we all just call him Smithy since his son’s name, Griffo is so similar.”

“His name is Gruffo.”

“Yes?”

Thorin paused for a moment, nodding as he thought. “You all are a strange people. Working outside all day, without swords or shields.”

“What made you think of that?”

“The name Gruffo.”

At that, Bilbo just laughed.

After luncheon, and a lot more questions from Thorin about the life he had just recently placed himself in, the two set out for the day, heading down towards the town center where the market was set up. Summer fruits and vegetables were on display. Jars of jams and jellies and pickled goods were labeled and priced, ready for sale. And as they walked down the crowded, stall line, path, something finally caught Bilbo’s attention. A stall of new gardening tools. His own kit had gotten worn over the past few years, and as much as he loved it, it was getting difficult to use well. He pulled Thorin over to the stall, striking up a conversation with the seller.

“Hello, Mr. Baggins. You lookin’ for a new gardenin’ set?”

“That I am, Mr. Greenhand. How’s this season treating you?” he asked, walking to one of the sets to get a better look.

“It’s been alright. Pappy’s been restin’ mostly, so me and the wife have been on the farm most days. Our tomato plants are shapin’ up real nice this year.”

“Well I’m glad to hear it.” He knew what was coming as soon as Holfred mentioned tomatoes.

“Might even have a chance of winnin’ the contest this year. Since it seems you’ll be out of the runnin’.”

“Now who said I’d be out of the running?” he replied, picking up a set and handing the equivalent coins over to Holfred.

“No one in particular. Just heard that storm two nights ago really did a number to your winnin’ tomatoes.”

“Then you heard wrong. My tomatoes are doing just fine.”

“If you say so, Mr. Baggins. Have a good day.”

“You too, Mr. Greenhand,” he said, taking the new set, grabbing Thorin’s hand, and beginning the walk back to Bag End.

“I thought we were going to the blacksmiths?”

“Tomorrow, love. I will not be seen until Frodo gets the tomato plant back.”

“What was the Greenfist guy saying, anyway?”

“Greenhand. And apparently word has spread about the disastrous case of our tomato plant. I will not lose my title nor my good name because some twisted, slimy, no-good, Sackville-Baggins decided she wanted to steal another thing from me.”

“A'lâju Mahal.”

“What?”

“She is a shame of Mahal.”

“And a descendant of rats and snakes.”

“That too.”

Once the two returned to Bag End, Bilbo set himself to work in the garden. Thorin, still with idle hands, was walking around the fence line of the garden when he noticed a task for him to complete. “‘Ibinê, do you have any tools I can use to mend the fence?”

“I might but the Gamgee’s are a better bet. Now what’s that word mean?”

“‘Ibinê?”

“The one in a language I don’t understand, that one.”

“It means my gem. Khebabmudtu was getting to be a mouthful.”

“All of Khuzdul is a bit of a mouthful. But go ask the Gamgee’s. Hamfast has better things for that than I do.”

“Will do.”

It took him only a minute to return with the appropriate tools. The damage in the fence was minor but still needed a more steady and practiced hand than Bilbo had to offer. “Thank you for doing that, by the way.”

“It gives me something to do that I know how to do.”

“Maybe next you can fix the roof. The bloody thing’s been leaking on and off for months now.”

“If you’ll take me into town to get my own craftsman tools, I would be more than happy to. Makes more sense than whatever you’re doing.”

Bilbo laughed a little at the comment. “I’m picking weeds, dear. So they don’t overrun my vegetables.”

“But I thought you wanted stuff to grow?”

“I do. Just not these. These are from nuts and seeds animals buried here for hiding.”

“Still makes no sense to me. Green and growing, all the same.”

“Rocks and stones are all the same to me, but both you and Frodo would get on my back if I just said that and left it.”

“That’s very true.”

Just then, there came the sound of wheels creaking, and laughter running up the fence’s gate. Dinner wasn’t for another 2 hours, but the 4 boys came running in. Sam was in the cart being pulled by Merry, followed closely (and being pushed) by Pippin and Frodo. And in front of Sam, in the wooden cart they had borrowed from the Gamgee’s, was the tomato plant.

“We did it, Mr. Uncle Bilbo!” Merry shouted, dropping the cart and nearly tipping Sam out in the process.

“I see that,” he responded with a laugh, getting up to help the young ones transfer the plant back to its original space.

“It’s doing just fine, Mr. Bilbo. Her roots are undamaged and she’s perfectly hydrated,” Sam said as he helped transfer the plant.

“Thank you, Sam. Did you all get caught?”

“Nope!” Pippin answered. “I trapped her door so when she came out to see what was going on, she got stuck in a net! We got away before she could even see our faces.”

“Frodo did have to bite her hand but it was only because she grabbed Pip’s shirt,” Merry pointed out. “But we all got away and she was too stunned to really see us.”

“Well good job to all of you. And good job doubly to you, Frodo. I would have done the same if she even put that hand near my face. Now, you all must be hungry.”

They all shouted in unison a clamorous yes, followed by them all, Thorin included, trailing inside for some late afternoon tea.

Once Sam, Merry, and Pippin were sent home on their way, and dinner was being made, Frodo settled himself on the couch next to Thorin. He had brought out an old Khuzdul children’s book. One he had read to Fíli and Kíli in their youths. It was a story about how Erebor was built. The two paused the story for dinner and continued it after. And before supper could even be started, Frodo was fast asleep.

“Must have tired himself out today,” Thorin remarked quietly.

“Busy day for him. I can put him down early. We’ll have a big breakfast tomorrow anyway.”

“Can I-?”

“Can you what?”

“Put him to bed.”

“Oh!” Bilbo was quite surprised by the question but smiled. “Of course. You’ve done it longer than I have.”

Thorin smiled back, picking up the sleeping hobbit from the couch and taking him to his room, leaving Bilbo in the living room, looking up at the pictures of his parents above the mantel.
There was an odd feeling in his chest all of a sudden. One he hadn’t felt in quite some time. A burning in his pocket. He looked down, making sure the small bit of gold was there, then caught himself. That ring wasn’t anything good. The creature he took it from was something else before that. And that little piece of gold turned him into a cold being in the caves.
Gold turned Thorin into a person he didn’t even know. So what good could holding onto that ring bring him? He thought on it for a moment, then checked the hall to see if Thorin was coming out of Frodo’s room yet. And seeing that he hadn’t, Bilbo walked over into the study, grabbed an envelope, wrote on the front in big letters Do Not Open, then sealed the ring inside. He brought it out to the garden, out over the fence, and towards the forest. He buried it at the root of a tree near the river before making his way back home, feeling a weight lifted knowing the ring was somewhere no one would find it.

Thorin was waiting for him by the fireplace, trying to read the book Bilbo had just finished writing, but clearly struggling.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

“I would love you to.”

Chapter Text

It was still dark out when a steady, heavy hand shook Bilbo from his sleep. He opened his eyes to see Thorin sitting up in the bed they shared, holding a much smaller figure whose face was hidden in Thorin’s night shirt. Bilbo sat up too, knowing what all had happened in just a matter of seconds. The little one, who had most likely had another nightmare about either his parents or Bilbo, had come into the room once he woke up, and grabbed onto the person nearest to him. Thorin looked slightly worried but not scared, as Bilbo half expected him to be.

“Did you have another nightmare, Frodo?” Bilbo asked, scooting a little closer to the two.

The little one nodded, not taking his face away from Thorin’s chest. “I don’t want Mr. Thorin or you to go away.”

“We won’t, little pebble,” Thorin mumbled. He was still half asleep himself but holding onto the little hobbit quite well, even as his grip on the wake world was slipping. “Neither me nor your uncle are going anywhere.”

“Will I have to go away?”

“We are all staying, Frodo,” Bilbo said, as calm as he could. He was plenty worried, but showing that would only worsen the matter.

“Can I sleep in here?”

“If Mr. Thorin doesn’t mind it, of course you can.”

“Mr. Thorin?” Frodo asked. He was met by the gentle snoring of the dwarf, who was still holding the little tyke to him. There was a small giggle from Frodo before he spoke again in a whisper. “I think he’s already asleep, Uncle.”

“Then I guess he won’t mind. Good night, Frodo.”

“Good night, Uncle.”

The sun woke Bilbo up the next morning, as it usually would. But he was met with silence. And in Bag End, home of a young hobbit boy and now, a Dwarf, was a very rare occurrence. Worryingly rare. But thankfully, the once blissful peace that now was an omen of messes and shattered vases, was broken by the sound of something hitting the floor in the kitchen. Followed by what sounded like a whispered curse, and the quiet scolding of a much younger hobbit. Bilbo got up, padding quietly to the door and opening it so he could hear the conversation better.

“You can’t say that, uncle Thorin. It’s a bad word.”

“How do you know that word?”

“I heard Fee say it before he left.”

“Oh of course you did. And how did you know it was a bad word?”

“Because he said it after he ran into the tree and hit his head. People usually say bad words when they do that kinda thing.”

There was a pause followed by the warm laughter of the dwarf. “That they do, my lad, that they do.”

Frodo shushed him, giggling a little himself. “You gotta be quiet or we’ll wake uncle Bilbo up.”

Bilbo smiled, walking to the kitchen and seeing the small mess the two were in the process of making. “And why can’t we wake uncle Bilbo up?”

“We were making you a surprise,” Frodo responded, seemingly a bit upset. “Now we can’t.”

“Oh, sure we can,” Thorin said, trying his best to console Frodo. “We can still make it just fine.”

“Can I ask what the surprise is?”

“Of course not, ‘Ibinê. Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“And no guessing! You can’t guess.”

“Fine, fine, then I’ll just go and get ready while you two keep your secrets. We’ll be going out to the shops today to get some new fall things for you and to introduce Mr. Thorin to the blacksmith.”

“It’s uncle Thorin, now, ‘Ibinê. I have truly reached my peak.”

Frodo just laughed a little and nodded, going back to his step stool by Thorin’s side to work on whatever surprise he had in store. Bilbo could have guessed quickly what the two were making. Orange and cranberry scones. The berries were out, dried from the winter, and some fresh oranges were halved and zested. The dough was on the cutting board with small hand prints in it. They were one of Frodo’s favorite pastries, and his absolute favorite to make so it was no real shock that he chose those as his surprise.
Bilbo just smiled as he got ready for the day. The smell of warm oranges started to fill the home and it made him smile even more. When he came back out, the scones were cooling on a rack and Thorin was helping the young lad wash the flour and marmalade off his hands. He was singing as he did, with Frodo as accompaniment. Although his lyrics were more of just jumbled gibberish to the same tune of Thorin’s song.

“Wash on the front, and on the back. Between each finger and before every snack. Keep your hands clean and nice and fresh, and tidy up the kitchen so we won’t leave a mess.”

It was a simple nursery rhyme and it seemed to be made up as he went, but as simple as it was, it made the whole room feel full of love. It was similar to the little songs Bilbo made up for when he and Frodo were cooking together. It was an easy way to help him remember things and a fun way to give the chaos of daily life more order. It seemed so natural to watch Thorin do it. Especially from this angle. They even looked alike. The same blue eyes, the same raven black hair. They even smiled in a similar way. A smile that pushed their ears back and made their noses wrinkle.
As much as it felt like Thorin was meant for his heart, watching him and his nephew sing a made up song about washing their hands made it feel like he was meant for Bag End and not just Bilbo’s love. Thorin fit. And even though it was purely unexpected, Bilbo chose not to question it, saving himself from any risk of losing that perfect match.
Once the little song was done and Frodo’s hands were dry, Bilbo joined the two, kissing Thorin’s cheek and then Frodo’s head. “I smell oranges.”

“Hopefully cranberries too.”

“Dried cranberries don’t have a smell, uncle Thorin.”

“Then why do oranges?”

Frodo shook his head, sighing just a little. “You don’t know much about produce, uncle Thorin.”

“Well, I was born and raised in a mountain so I think I have a bit of leniency. This is the first time I’ve had an orange, really.”

“What.”

Frodo’s utter shock was amusing to Bilbo, but not at all to Thorin. “We didn’t have citrus fruits in the mountains.”

“It must’ve sucked living there.”

“Compared to here? It was horrible.”

Chapter Text

The mid summer sun was warm on Thorin’s face as they left the small home in the early afternoon. His hands had already become dirty from some rock adventures Frodo had taken him on but it was always nice to see the dirt under his nails. It always made the day feel lived and the time well spent. Frodo was on his shoulders, being held with one hand, while Thorin’s other was on his cane. For once, Thorin had his hair pulled back and out of his face, with some wild flowers from Frodo’s collection stuck in the thick braid of black and gray. His beard was in a similar state, although left loose with only two braids (adorned with the appropriate beads). It was graying but in such a gentle way that he had to admire it. Especially in the sunlight. It looked like strands of fine silver were woven into his hair. And even in the dimmer light of the fire in the evening, it looked like gold. But he chose not to relate it to that. Something about that tint always hit his heart so closely. It was a sickening feeling but when he felt it, he couldn’t stop himself from giving into it. He tried to fight it, and each day, he had been winning more and more. And with the addition of Bilbo and Frodo to his life, the fight got easier and much less daunting. The little whisper in his mind never fully went away, but it got quieter and sometimes, stopped talking for some periods of time entirely.
Frodo, from his shoulders, grabbed a summer bloom off a tree, adding it to the small collection in his beard and hair. Thorin never had that much green around him back “home”. But it was nice. Much warmer than a furnace could ever get. Even though the sweat that dripped down his face by the roaring flames said otherwise, the soft smile of the young hobbit boy on his shoulders provided a warmth no forge could produce.

“The shop is just up here,” Bilbo pointed out, raising his hand to gesture to the stone and steel building ahead of them. There was a warm glow coming from inside the building, as well as smoke drifting up from the large chimney on top. “Seems he’s already at work.”

“As any good blacksmith would be,” Thorin added. He never really minded the heavy work. The calloused hands and soot covered face made the long days seem much more worthwhile and well spent. After the battle, once he had recovered enough to take care of himself, he had been plagued with thoughts he wished to be rid of. The image of gold mixed with blood, and the cursed arkenstone. It all got a bit too much. Being stuck up in his chambers, unable to distract himself. Until Dís arrived and granted him an escape. In the form of a simple request.

“Nadad, you’ve locked yourself in your room all day, what on earth could be so important in there?”

“Thinking. Nothing you need to worry about, Dís.”

“Well, what are you thinking about? Because it can’t be that important that you miss a meal.”

“It is. Did you need something or were you just coming to pester me?”

“Your nephew broke one of Frerin’s chest plates. I need you to fix it.”

“We have countless blacksmiths and armories in the mountain.”

“Yes? What of it?”

“Why are you asking me to do it?”

“Because you’re the only one who knows how. It was one of father’s designs. No one remembers it. I certainly don’t.”

“Alright, I’ll get to it.”

Thinking back on it now, the break was pristine and near perfect. As if it had been cut by a worried sister of a struggling king. Dís was always the baby of the three but she was the strongest by far. Gave him an earful after seeing Fíli and Kíli laid up with their injuries. But she was a lovely mother, sister, and friend. And she worked well in the kingdom.
But since her request, he had kept himself busy in the forges, working on repairs of old armor or creating new blades and picks. It stopped the droning thoughts from plaguing him too much. And Dís knew it would.

When they approached the steps of the blacksmith’s, Thorin pulled Frodo down off his shoulders, gently placing the little one on the ground beside him. Bilbo led the two inside where an older hobbit was at a desk while a younger one who looked very similar to him was by the forge.

“Mr. Bilbo Baggins,” said the one behind the desk as he stood up. “It’s been a while since you’ve come into my shop, how can I help you today?”

“It’s good to see you too, Gruffo. It has been a while. And I don’t have any jobs but I do have someone who’s been losing his mind a little with nothing to do.”

Thorin just smiled and bowed his head slightly, mostly out of habit. The hobbit looked over at him and his face changed to one of bafflement. “The dwarf?”

“My name is Thorin, ever at your service.”

“We’ll see about that. What can I help you with, Mr. Thorin?”

“Well, I was wondering if there was something I could do for you. I’m not any help in the garden and I don’t think there’s enough broken fences in the Shire to keep me occupied forever.”

“Aren’t you a king?”

“Yes, by technicality. But by trade, I’m a blacksmith.”

“Oh? What’s your speciality?”

“I like detailed work. I made my sister’s wedding ring as well as a few rings of my own. Silver is easiest in my hands but steel and copper are just as workable.”

“And gold?”

“It’s… best I don’t handle that.”

“Dwarven tendencies, huh? Thought those were just myths.”

“A lot of myths are just old truths.”

“Well, Mr. Thorin, I work mostly in silver so that won’t be a worry. We do some repairs of farming equipment, but for new makes, we do plate ware. I believe Mr. Bilbo has one of my tea sets.”

“I do, it’s wonderfully made.”

“I have never made a tea set before,” Thorin added, “but I would love to try.”

Gruffo nodded, going back to his desk. “Make me a set of those rings you were talking about. You can use the forge and metals here, but before I let you start working, I want to see your work.”

“I can start on it today, if you’d like.”

“Come in tomorrow. If you can, make your designs. Rings aren’t something I’ve sold before so I’d like to see your design too.”

After the agreement was made and the details of the make were laid out, Thorin, Bilbo, and Frodo made their way out of the market and back towards home. Thorin wasn’t too well versed in the small nuances of Hobbit social standards but the looks he was getting weren’t too small. “‘Ibinê, do I have something stuck in my beard?”

“Other than the flowers from Frodo, no. Why?”

“People are looking at me funny.”

“Ah, yes. Hobbits talk an awful lot and you’re a newcomer. And a dwarf at that. They’re like children at the zoo,” Bilbo whispered back.

Frodo leaned over to get closer to Thorin’s ear from the position on his shoulder. “They don’t tend to have a lot of manners.”

“I can see that quite well. What kind of design do you think I should do, Frodo?”

“Well, mama had a ring that was braided kinda. And it braided up to a diamond. It was really pretty. Dad had it made for her. At least that’s what mama said.”

“I helped your father pick it out. It was very nice. It had some golden flecks in the metal work if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, it was very pretty and shiny. But not stingy like your ring, uncle.”

“Stingy?” Thorin asked.

“Do you mean the magic ring?”

“Mhm, it’s stingy. Like when lemon juice gets in my eye sometimes.”

“How in Mahal does lemon juice get in your eye, little pebble?” Thorin asked, looking up at Frodo on his shoulders.

“Sometimes it ‘splodes a little when I squeeze it.”

“Ah yes. The dreaded Lemon Explosion. A terrible fate really. I’ve seen it take out a few grown men in my time.”

Frodo giggled. “I have both my legs working fine, I’ll be alright.”

“Oh, a low blow,” Thorin replied in a jokingly offended tone. “I’ve taught you well.”

The both of them ended up laughing most of the way back home, which was a relief to Bilbo who no longer had to ask why the magic ring he brought back from his trip burned Frodo’s hand when he touched it. He made a note to himself to ask Gandalf next time he came in for tea, but that mental note was soon forgotten.’

It was much later into the night when Thorin came into Bilbo’s study from the spare office he had been using for his maps and, now, designs. “‘Ibinê, can I measure your finger real quick? I want to use real measurements that I can compare the final product to.”

“Oh yes, of course,” he replied, holding his hand out to the dwarf.
The process seemed to mean nothing to Bilbo but the look of pure concentration on Thorin’s face told him otherwise. He had no real idea what that dear companion of his had working up in his head, but he was glad that it gave him something to do.

Once back at the desk with the proper measurements, Thorin took his own ring size and wrote it down besides Bilbo’s. The design he had in the works was fairly simple. Silver bands made of braided strands. But, the best (and most enjoyable) part in his opinion, would be the little leaves on the braided vines. They would be small. No bigger than Frodo’s fingernail. But they would be the statement of the piece. His plan was to make one ring, the smaller one, with leaves in the small spaces the vines left. While the other, larger ring, would have small flowers in place of those leaves, since the flowers required more detail and he could work on them easier with a slightly bigger model.
Maybe he meant to, or maybe he didn’t, but the two rings looked like a matching pair. Growing different life but all from the same source. And in the end, they would be together. A leaf and a flower usually end up side by side. And, even though in nature, they might not always stay like that, these flowers and leaves most certainly would

Chapter Text

As the sun peaked the horizon for the next morning, Thorin woke up at the desk, and not the bed he had started to share with that hobbit of his. Speaking of, he could hear the distant footsteps of the much smaller hobbit that ran his life these days running down the hall. Those little footsteps stopped at the door and then came a small little knock. Followed by a little voice. “Uncle Thorin?”

After a yawn and a stretch that popped out most of his back, the dwarf got out of the chair he had fallen asleep in and walked over to the door, opening it just slightly. “Yes, little pebble?”

“You’re still staying right?”

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You weren’t in bed this morning, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” he replied, scooping the slightly scared young one into his arms. Frodo was an awful lot like Fili
“I know you’d come and drag me back home yourself if I ever left.”

“And so would Uncle Bilbo. I don’t think he’d let you leave like that.”

“Oh I know he wouldn’t. And I could never imagine a reason I would ever want to.”

“So you’re really staying?”

“If you will have me, young master baggins,” he replied in an over-extravagant voice he hadn’t used in ages. It was his dragon voice, as Kíli called it. The little hobbit laughed, which only made Thorin smile more, creasing the weathered skin around his eyes. As the two left the dark office to face the kitchen in the rising morning light, Thorin could swear he heard singing. Not humming or whispered lyrics. But full belted singing. Loudly, ringing through the halls. But only faintly. Like it was in a dream or a different life time. It was his sister’s voice he heard, singing one of her favorite songs about the birds in the mountain tops. But when they reached the kitchen, no one was there singing. Just an older hobbit, milling about as he always did, in that sweetly pleasant way.

“Well there you two are. I was wondering why it was so quiet this morning. Seems the bear was in another burrow,” Bilbo remarked, looking over at the two as they entered.

“Bears don’t live in burrows, uncle Bilbo,” Frodo replied as he climbed out of Thorin's arms and into his window seat. “They live in caves and in forests.”

Thorin took his assigned seat next to Frodo’s and across from Bilbo’s at the breakfast table and sat back, letting out a small, contented sigh. “Caves in the winter, forests in the summer. And in the mountains when it’s axing season.”

“What’s axing season?”

Thorin’s joke was cut short by a glare from Bilbo. His line (one he was fairly fond of) was a fairly gruesome joke about the bear pelts the dwarves used often. Whenever they got cold, he’d say. But remembering his company, he quickly made up a finishing line. “Their claws. Their claws are great for sharpening our axes. Wonderful tools. So we ask for their help.”

The look Frodo gave in return was a mix of suspicion and amusement. “Bear claws aren’t the right texture to sharpen tools.”

“They’re the right texture to sharpen wood, are they not?”

“Yeah but that’s different. You guys use iron, not wood.”

“Says who?”

“Says you!”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

Frodo tried to force an angry face but his smile overshadowed it as it tended to do. Nothing Thorin could complain about.

Once breakfast was done, Thorin bidded a farewell to the two hobbits as he headed into town to the blacksmith’s shop. He had his sketches in hand and an itch in his veins to get back to work. He was glad for the chance to put himself to work again. Even back home, when he had all the responsibility of the king, he always put it second to the smithy duties he took on. He enjoyed it. It made sense to him. Dís was better with the paperwork and he was better with the metal work. And Dain was better with the people. It was something he always noticed about himself. He never really understood people. Not in the way they wanted him to at least. He understood Dís and Dain and Frerin. He could interpret his young nephews’ babbles and grunts with points. That all made sense to him. But anyone else, outside of his circle, he never got. They would talk in ways he couldn’t grasp and would rely on things he couldn’t see. I mean, sure the words they spoke were known. He spoke that language. But they put the words together in weird ways. He always seemed to get it wrong. But he was fine with it, since he didn’t really want to be around anyone outside of his circle.
As he passed through the small streams of people going about their business in town, he was grateful yet again that he didn’t have to be “democratic” as Dís said.

The smithy shop was closed but by the instruction of Mr. Boffin, he rapped lightly on the door. After a moment, it opened to the soot covered blacksmith. “Ah yes, you, as expected. Come in,” he muttered, turning and going back to the furnace.
Thorin did as he was told, closing the door behind himself. “So, do you have an idea for what you want to make?”
Without a word, the dwarf handed him the papers he had worked on for hours the previous night. Two rings, two sizes. They were a pair and the sketches he had done were in detail. Size, shape, material, all angles and all to scale. “Well. These seem ready to work, I’m impressed. I have materials and spare tools if you want to give it a go. The shop’s closed today so take your time, here are your sketches back, and good luck.”
With that, the smithy handed back the papers, gave Thorin a pat on the back and went about his own work.

It wasn’t long before Thorin found all the things he was told about. Silver, molds, hammers and tongs, as well as much smaller tools and welding materials for the little details. He took out the apron Bilbo had sent him off with and put the papers out on the workbench and began the process.
He wasn’t at all used to such a small project but it wasn’t too different. Not in the ways that really mattered at least. The metal was hot and of wonderful quality, and he shaped it well enough. He messed up once or twice but that was part of the learning. By the time noon time rolled around, he had almost finished the smaller of the 2 rings. He had wanted to do the most difficult part first so he could be sure to get it done right. And he did. The ring itself was easy to make. He had a shape and it was easy to move. What made it difficult were the braided vines on the surface. He had tried to braid different strips of metal and then curve it to the ring but that just fell off. Then he tried to do it in portions but he kept squishing it. So finally, he started to braid as he went. Attaching the base of it to the ring to start and melding them together as he braided along the ring. And by the time Mr. Boffin came in to tell him it was lunch break, the braiding for that ring was done, and he had (seemingly) mastered that little skill.

“You seem to be getting along well, ey?”

“You have some great things to work with.”

“But not as good as those forges back home, huh?”

“Nothing can really meet the heart of a mountain. But this is a good second.”

“Well, either way, I’m glad to see you’re doing well. I’m going on my lunch. You’re welcome to keep at it if you want, I’ll be back in about an hour. Good day.”

And just as quickly as he had popped in, the smithy popped back out, leaving Thorin to the fire and anvil alone. It was quite nice.
After that allotted hour had passed, Thorin had finished the leaves for the ring and they were affixed and left to cool in the water bucket.
With that one done, he began on the other one. Larger, his own size, with the same braiding, and small flowers. It went much quicker this time. Or at least it felt like it did. He had the braiding pattern done and the ring shaping was easy. The flowers took a little more work but he only had to make a few and despite their lopsidedness, he found them perfect for the ring.

By the time he went to dim the fire in the furnace, the sun had begun to set and the town was quiet. “Done for the night?” Boffin asked as Thorin made his way to the front.

“Done entirely. I’ve left the rings to cool, but they’re both done. They aren’t perfect but I feel like they’ll do well enough.”

“I don’t plan to sell them, since they’re your firsts and not made to any particular measurement.”

“Then they’ll make good keepsakes.”

“Or a wonderful gift, to whoever was the size you used.”

Thorin just nodded, noticing a look that the smithy was giving him. It just left him confused. “Well, goodnight sir. I’ll stop by for them in the morning.”

“Sounds perfect. Goodnight, Mr. Oakenshield.”

The walk back was quiet, and Bag end was near silent when he got in. He heard the quiet sounds of a book being read from Frodo’s room and, once he sat his bag down in the office, Thorin quietly opened the door to look in. Frodo was nearly asleep, tucked into his bed, with his uncle sitting in a chair beside him, reading the tale of the dragon by candle light. As Bilbo finished the chapter he was on, a whispered ask for just one more came from Frodo. Bilbo simply blew out the candle, kissed me on the head, and said goodnight before meeting Thorin out in the hall.

“So? How’d it go?” he asked, walking with the dwarf back to the kitchen for a late supper.

“Good. The rings came out nicely and I’ll get to bring them back tomorrow. Did you two have a good day?”

“Just more tending to the garden as usual. The summer festival is in 2 weeks and we want to be ready.”

“Do you think you will be?”

“Oh of course I do. Will you be?”

“I didn’t realize I had to be,” Thorin replied, taking the saved plate to his seat. “Am I competing in something too?”

“Yes, it’s called the Shire Gossip.”

“And what is that?”

“A lot of talk. People are curious.”

“Sounds absolutely dreadful.”

“You’ll do great. You killed a dragon after all.”

“I did not, and you know that plenty well.”

“Yes, but they don’t.”

“Are you saying to lie?”

“Tell them a story. Make them entertained.”

“Just like the boys?”

“Just like the boys.”

Chapter Text

The next week flew past. Thorin got the rings from the smithy and gave the one promised to his love to Bilbo. It fit well and despite its lack of magical properties, Bilbo kept it just as close. Frodo started to get his own schedule worked out for the busier months when Bilbo’s schedule became convoluted and less planned and Frodo had his own medley of tasks to do. He truly was a Baggins. But on that particular Sunday morning, at the start of the final week of preparations for the wonderful summer festival, that brewing chaos for the coming months became a much more real change when the knock at the door of Bag End disrupted the midmorning.
Frodo hopped up from where he was at the kitchen table and walked over, assuming it to be the neighbors or even just Merry and Pip coming to squeeze a bit more fun out of the warmth of summer. But he was met with two dwarves of similar kin, who promptly scooped him up with a laugh and made their way to the kitchen. “Hi Uncle,” Fíli called, carrying the little hobbit over his shoulder. “We’re back.”

“I could tell from your footsteps, did you two have a nice trip?”

“Yeah! We got lost in the woods-”

“And swept down a river.”

“Twice.”

“Yeah, that was fun. No barrels though.”

“So less fun than the first time.”

“But still fun.”

From his perch on Fíli’s, Frodo piped in. “Uncle Bilbo won’t let me go on a barrel ride, he says it’s too dangerous even though he’s done it.”

“Well it was either that or be stuck in an elvish prison forever.”

“Or, Uncle Thorin coulda talked to the elf king.”

At that, Thorin let out a very loud and abrupt laugh. He quickly covered it with a hand over his mouth, muttering a small “Sorry” to the mildly amused glare of his companion.

“Uncle Thorin?” Kíli asked, hearing the term that he was so used to using.

“He’s my uncle too now. You can’t stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kee replied.

Fíli on the other hand looked more concerned. “Wait, does… you’re still gonna come back to the mountain, right? After you finish visiting.”

“Not to Erebor, no.”

There was a shared look of shock between the boys, which prompted a nudge from Bilbo followed by a harsh whisper. “You said you told them.”

“I did. Part of it. Kind of. It was a bit of a difficult decision. Dain is the only one who knows all of it,” replied the dwarf.
Bilbo didn’t have words for what he was thinking. Well, he did, but they weren’t kind ones and he didn’t care to say them in front of impressionable ears. But the glare he gave seemed to get his unsaid words across. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you two.”

“Does Amad know!?” Kíli asked, shouting a little as he did. Frodo leaned over and gave him a stern pat on the head. “Sorry. Does Amad know?” he repeated, quieter this time.

Thorin paused, almost holding his breath, trying to prevent the inevitable consequences of his actions. He knew his sister well. And she would not take kindly to being kept in the dark. “The only one who knows is Dain. Since he’s taking the crown for me.”

“YOU’RE NOT KING ANYMORE?” Fíli asked, loud enough that it made Bilbo jump a little.

Frodo smacked his head too. “No shouting inside! This is a hobbit hole, not a mountain.”

“Sorry, little fee, forgot. Uncle are you… are you really leaving us?”

“I’m not leaving, you two. I’m just… not going to be around.”

“Will you at least come visit?”

“Of course I will.”

“And you and your mother are always welcome to come and visit here too,” Bilbo added. “As much as you two age me, I love seeing you, and Frodo loves having bigger kids to play with.”

“We aren’t kids, Mr Boggins,” Kee said.

“Really? I didn’t know adults climbed trees with the intention of getting stuck,” he teased. Kíli’s ears went red, but he laughed anyway.

“You’ve gotten stuck in a tree, uncle.”

“Yes, but only because I was getting you down and my old joints aren’t what they used to be.”

Once the whole ordeal of the crownless king was sorted out, it was time for tea, which Frodo gladly helped with. He always enjoyed working in the kitchen with Bilbo. He got to sing his songs and eat the end result. A win win to the little one. Once it was all finished, they all took a seat outside in the back, and Frodo told the story of how he and his friends saved the tomato plant. The little one was quite the story teller, embellishing little details here and there, just to make it more exciting. It wasn’t noticeable to anyone but Bilbo, which made it even better.
In turn, Fíli and Kíli each shared stories of the adventure they had gone on and the bits of the Shire they had explored. Frodo had even run inside to grab one of his many maps to try and pinpoint each place the boys went. At one point, Fíli picked Frodo up to show him how high the river waves were, and it nearly gave Bilbo a heart attack. Thorin took his hand which settled his nerves a bit. That is, until Fee pretended to drop Frodo, and Bilbo almost screamed.

“You worry about him a lot,” Thorin commented quietly, seeing how on-edge Bilbo was.

“I have to. Our family line is quite large and if anything were to happen to him while I had him, one of the other relatives could find a good enough reason to take him, and in turn, his parents' estate.”

“I thought you said hobbits are polite.”

“They are. But if they don’t know you, or if they know you too well, that politeness can just be a cover for some truly awful intentions.”

“Are the Gamgees-”

“No,” Bilbo interjected, cutting the thought off before Thorin could fully say it. “The Gamgees are as kind as they seem. Bagginses, and Sackville-Bagginses, on the other hand, can have a tendency to play games with their neighbors.”

“Like stealing the tomato plant or taking their silver spoons.”

“Exactly like that. You’re a quick learner,” Bilbo said, smiling.

“Thank you. There seem to be a lot of confusing things about hobbits.”

“There are, but every hobbit has to learn them.”

“I’m a dwarf.”

“Who has made the bold choice to live with hobbits.”

“Ah yes, right.”

Bilbo laughed a little, mostly to himself. It was the last few days of calm before the storm of the festival came. But it was going to be quite a pleasant few days. With the scent of honey drifting over from one of the neighbors hives and the gentle warmth of the late setting sun casting a similar color of yellow on the walls, it was shaping up to be a perfect hobbit summer.
No dragons to fight, nor goblins to avoid. No real treachery other than the battle for the best tomato that came every year. Bilbo was enjoying it. And Thorin seemed to be too. He had plenty of battle scars, and the cane he carried with him acted as a reminder of them too. It seemed, to Bilbo at least, that Thorin was tired of all the swords and such. The gray in his beard was more noticeable than when they had first met, and as pretty as it was, showed he was aging, or stressed out of his mind.
Bilbo knew it was both. But the dwarf seemed relaxed here. He wasn’t on edge, or looking over his shoulder. He had let his guard down. And from what Bilbo knew of him through Balin and their other Company-men, that was a rarity for his companion. The hobbit leaned over a bit, resting his head on Thorin’s shoulder as they sat and watched the three boys, all nephews in their care, go about doing whatever they did (it seemed like they were pretending some sticks they found were swords).

“Are you alright, ‘Ibinê?”

“Just thinking. Nothing to worry about, my love,” he responded, turning so he was facing the companion he was leaning on.

“And you’d tell me if it was something to worry about?”

“Of course.” Bilbo smiled, kissing the dwarf’s nose before standing up and dusting off his pants. “Now, I’m going to figure out what I need from the market if you’ll stay here with the havoc.”

“Will do. Good luck out there.”

“It’s not a dungeon, just the market.”

“In all honesty, I’d prefer a dungeon.”

“I know you do, you oaf,” the hobbit replied with a laugh, leaning over to give his companion a proper kiss goodbye before taking the step up into Bag-End and going to search through the pantry.

Chapter Text

Despite Thorin’s distaste for shopping, he ended up helping with it a good bit. At least with the heavy lifting. With the boys being back in the house, the meals needed to be a bit heavier. Those two would eat the whole pantry and the door if given the chance. But Bilbo would be sure they were properly fed, being the host he was. Frodo was able to convince his uncle to let him make a fort in the living room for the night, with the agreement that he would clean up after. The boys were in the process of helping him build it when Bilbo got back from a little errand he ran to the Gamgees (returning a pie dish that he had forgotten about in the back cupboard). Thorin was watching them all from the doorway, leaning against it to keep his balance. Bilbo tapped his shoulder when he got in, pulling him away from the spectacle that was their collective nephews making a fort and into the kitchen.

“Care to help me cook again?”

“Sure, but I can’t promise I’ll be any good,” the dwarf joked, sitting at his designated spot at the table.

“Legs getting tired?”

“A bit. I was playing out with the boys while you were at the market.”

“And why on earth were you playing with the boys?”

“They asked me to show them how to wield a sword. Who am I to turn them down?”

Bilbo chuckled and nodded as he started to unpack his grocery bag. “You have to listen to your body more, you know. It isn’t going to get any better and if you keep ignoring it, it’ll only get worse.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s hard sometimes. With them, I mean.”

“How so?” the hobbit asked, taking out a cutting board and a few bowls.

“They aren’t little anymore, and I know that. But part of me doesn’t want to see them grow up. Especially after… you know.” Thorin said, glancing into the other room. Some pillows were being thrown about, followed by laughter.

“After you three almost died?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to put it so bluntly, but yes.”

“Well, you put everything else so bluntly, why not that?”

“Because death is different,‘Ibinê. There’s something about it that is just hard to confront.”

“I guess. Can you cut these up for me?” he asked, passing a few squashes, a handful of carrots, and a couple stalks of celery to him.

“If you give me a knife-” Thorin started. Bilbo pointed to a spot on the table right by his hand where the kitchen knife was set. “Ah, thank you. You know, you’re a lot different than when we first met.”

“How’s that?” Bilbo asked, going back to the pantry to gather what he needed. Flour and eggs.

“I don’t really know how to describe it, you’re just different.”

That made the hobbit laugh. “That’s no help at all. Can you at least try?”

“Sure, but can I first ask what you’re doing?” he said, watching Bilbo measure out flour and put it directly onto a cutting board.

“Making a crust.”

“Ah. I still have no idea, but that helps a little.”
Both laughed a little before getting back to their tasks and conversation. “Different is such a hard thing to describe.”

“Well, what’s different about me? We can start there.”

“You’re more… forward, I’d say. Bombor told me about the cheese wheel incident, and seeing you now, I don’t think you’d wait a second before taking back what was grabbed and scolding everyone who just barged in. But you didn’t before. And you’re less shocked by some of the things we talk about.”

“Like my response to you talking about near death?”

“Exactly. You were so shocked by the whole idea that you fainted. Although, I don’t know if you really did or if it was just a ploy to get us to leave.”

The hobbit laughed again, starting to knead his mixture into a dough. “Well, I promise it wasn’t. I think a lot changed on the journey. For all of us, but a lot in me. And when I got back, it wasn’t long before Frodo came into my care and that changed even more. I guess death just doesn’t phase me anymore.”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Not particularly. We’ll all die someday, save for the elves and the wizard. It’s just something that’s part of life.”

“It’s an awful part of it.”

“Yes, but more of a reason to do lovely things. Those that say they’ll sleep when their dead have never known the true joy of a warm bed on a winter night.”

Thorin paused for a moment, taking his time to look at the companion across from him. “I don’t think I’ve told you that I love you since I’ve gotten back, have I?”

“Maybe not directly, but you have shown it in many ways.”

“Well I do.”

“Oh I know. And I love you too. But what makes you bring that up now?”

“I just find your view on the world so interesting. And I’m glad to be sharing it with you.”

“I’m glad to have someone to share it with. Do you think we should add lamb to the filling?”

“If we have any, yes. The boys might be grown but they still eat like they’re growing.”

“I think that’s just how dwarves eat,” Bilbo chuckled, getting up from the table to look in the fridge. “I can whip up a quick sauce for it, to make it all seem a bit more cohesive.”

“Do what you think is best, you’re the cook.”

“And you’re my helper. Now back to what we were talking about. Why do you feel the need to play so rough with the boys when you know it’ll only hurt you?”

“I want to hold onto them as much as I can. Like you said, we’ll all be gone at some point or another, and I want to be lasting for them.”

“You worry too much, Thorin.”

The dwarf laughed, mostly out of disbelief. “I worry too much?”

“Yes yes, pot calling the kettle black, I know, but I mean it,” Bilbo replied, starting to gather whatever seasonings he needed. “Death is there for all of us, but that doesn’t mean you have to think about it. Sometimes, you have to, sure, but if you worry about it, you’ll ruin the good moments you have with the people you’ll miss.”

Thorin nodded, dumping the last of his chopped veggies into the bowl provided. “It’s always in the back of my mind. A lot more recently, I’ve noticed.”

“Really? Any reason why?”

“Well, I guess part of it is that I’m the first king to step down. My grandfather went insane, my father died before he was truly king. It’s been an unbroken line.”

“So it’s like you went and died to give up the throne?”

“Yeah, it feels like it a bit. Like I can’t go back home.”

Bilbo just nodded, not quite knowing what to say.
Then he remembered something that him and Gandalf had talked about. “When I was younger, far far far before I met any of you hooligans, I was a bit more of a trouble maker.”

“You? Bilbo Baggins? Really?” Thorin replied with a half laugh.

Bilbo smacked him on the arm, just enough to make him laugh a bit more. “Yes, really. But then, my parents passed. My mother was a Took, she was adventurous as all could be, and my father was a Baggins. The Baggins she chose to go on her adventures with.”

“Like you and me.”

“Just like you and me,” he replied, smiling a bit. “But when they died, it was just me. I was an adult, sure, but just barely. And as I told you before, this family is large and convoluted. And Bagend is coveted. So I had to pretend I really knew what was going on so I could keep my home.”

“You feel like you died a bit too, huh?”

“Exactly. But that’s ok. Because there’s a new me here now who is much happier than the me that was in-between. You’ll find the new you and it’ll feel less gloomy.”

“Any idea when?”

“No clue. Maybe we have to fight another dragon to find it,” the hobbit said, letting out another chuckle.

“Did someone say dragon?” came a hoarse shout from the living room. “I’ll show you dragon!” And in jumped Fíli, wearing a red hood and crudely made tail with Frodo on his back, giggling away. He roared loudly, rearing up to show his taped on claws before he was quickly tackled by Kíli and dragged back into the fort. The sounds of an exaggerated battle followed, mixed with quite a lot of laughter from all included.
It was a ruckus by all definitions. Bilbo wanted to tell them to try and not make a total mess, but Thorin’s smile stopped him.
A little bit of extra cleaning was worth the memories.

Chapter Text

“Uncle Thorin?”

“Yes, Frodo?” The dwarf answered as he was tucking him into bed.

“Are you ‘n uncle Bilbo married?”

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. I love him a great deal, but we aren’t married.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really know, pebble. Just haven’t asked him yet.”

“Are you gonna?”

“Probably. Now, you, my little friend, need to go to sleep.”

“Mm!” Frodo replied, forcing a pout. “No I don’t, I’m perfectly fine.”

“You fell asleep during story time tonight.”

“Yes but I’m fine now.”

“Goodnight, Frodo,” Thorin said, kissing the little one’s forehead before standing up with the aid of his cane.

“Good night, uncle thorin.”

Once the door was closed, Thorin went back to the room he now shared with his companion. There must have been a puzzled look on his face because Bilbo asked. “You alright, love?”

“Yes, I just forgot how peculiar children can be.”

Bilbo laughed, looking up from the book he was reading in bed. “What did Frodo say tonight?”

“He asked me if you and I were married.”

It took Bilbo a moment to respond. “Well, what did you say?”

“Not yet.”

“Yet? You plan on it?”

“If you agree to it, hopefully.”

“Well, how about after the summer festival? Give your kin some time to make their way down here.”

“You’re willing to have the dwarves here again?”

“If we’re getting married, we have to. All family and friends included, to make sure all goes well.”

“Knowing them,” Thorin began, getting into bed next to Bilbo. “They might do the opposite.”

“Well, our life will include them, won’t it?”

“Yes?”

“Then they should be a part of the union. Make sure they’re still there after it all starts.”

“As if they would leave, ‘Ibinê. You offer them an inch, they take a mile.”

“Or… you offer one of them a seat, and 13 of them take one. And take you on an adventure to nearly die.”

“You signed the contract, we were ready to leave without you.”

“And you all would be dead if I hadn’t come with,” the hobbit replied, putting his book on his bedside table.

“And if we weren’t, I would not be nearly as happy.”

“You were meant for the simple life, my love.” He sighs a bit, stretching out, and resting on Thorin’s arm. “Long day tomorrow.”

“Really? What’s tomorrow?”

“The festival may only be a day, but it’s a week of prep and early celebrations.”

“Ah yes. And that week starts tomorrow.”

“Indeed it does. Are you doing anything for the festival?”

“Depends on what all there is to do.”

“Well, there’s metal working you can compete in. I’m sure Smithy can help you get started there.”

The idea seemed to excite Thorin, causing a wide, crooked smile so common on the dwarfs face. “Do you think I’d be any good at it?”

“Well, it’s not sword making if that’s what you're asking. But I think you’ll be good at anything you try.”

“I feel like that’s biased,” Thorin replied, kissing his yawning companion on the cheek before laying on his side, using his hand to prop his head up.

“No, I’m just optimistic,” he replied, blowing out his bedside light. “And I think what makes you good at something isn’t how the product turns out. It’s about how you learn from it.”

“You’d be a horrible dwarf,” Thorin replied with a small laugh as Bilbo took his nightly position with his head on the dwarf’s shoulder.

“And you are a wonderful hobbit. Now, get some sleep. We’ll need all hands in the morning.”

The night passed quietly, with all in the home sleeping through the night. They boys had made little spots to rest in the living room, both on the floor, even though there was space in a spare room for them both. But, as all nights went in the world, the sun rose, pushing the stars back for another day, rousing the rested and restless alike. And as per the usual happenings of Bag End in the summertime, Bilbo was the first up and dressed. He took the time to wash his face, as he did almost every morning before sneaking past the boys (who were snoring just as loud as their uncle) and into the kitchen to get started on the day's first meal. Some people considered the cooking a chore but for Bilbo, and really the Baggins as a whole, it was a simple pleasure in life. Order and control with a tasty result. Plus, a great chance to bond with children and peers alike.
He had made a dough the night prior and left it in the icebox to chill, so now, as he pulled the layered dough out, it was ready to be worked. The oven was already warming, and soon his favorite little helper would be up and eager to participate in the cooking, so everything was already working just as planned.

Thorin was up next, and came in, resting his full weight on Bilbo, which made him laugh a bit. “Sleepwalking this morning?”
There wasn’t much of a verbal response, just more of a content grunt from the dwarf.
“Go get your cane, you oaf.”

“But you’re comfortable, why would I move?”

“Because I cannot cook with a backpack twice my size.”

Thorin chuckled, resting his face next to Bilbo’s for a moment more, before standing up and stretching. There was an audible pop in his back which caused both to laugh a bit louder than intended. “Well, that’s one way to wake the body up,” Thorin said, putting a hand to his back. “I’ll go make myself respectable.”

“And make sure your nephews are still breathing.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them? They’re late sleepers, and I just want to check.”

Before Thorin had even left the kitchen fully, there was a loud snore that sounded like furniture being dragged across the wood floor. “Kilí’s breathing.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh again, before waving a smiling Thorin off. It was a very nice morning and he had been awake for an hour at most. The next sound that drew his attention was the small and familiar steps of his youngest nephew coming into the kitchen. He was wearing one of his favorite active clothes. Overalls and a bright colored shirt that one of the many aunties got him. It was pink and yellow, with spots of blue, and he adored it. As he came in, he saw Bilbo looking at him and he did a little spin, showing off the full outfit. Bilbo in return gave the little one a round of applause.

“What’re you making this morning?”

“Croissants. Your mother gave me this recipe a long time ago and I’ve needed a reason to use it.”

“Oh I loved those when mama made them,” Frodo said, smiling just as wide as always as he climbed up on his stool beside Bilbo. “Am I in charge of fruit again?”

“As always, pumpkin. Your other uncle is still getting ready, but he’s up and moving.”

“You and uncle Thorin remind me a lot of Sam’s mom and dad,” Frodo said, taking his small cutting board to his usual spot, and grabbing the fruits he wanted from the fridge.

“And how’s that?”

“Well, when I spend the night at Sam’s, I always see his mom and dad do the same thing every morning. Mr. Gamgee always kisses her hand and does a little dance with her in the morning, and they always put their foreheads together when he has to go.”

“That’s like me and Thorin?”

“Mhm. He always comes and leans on you, and you always mess with his hair.”

Bilbo smiled, realizing how much he had been doing that recently. He hadn’t even noticed the small moments he and the dwarf shared, since they had become so routine. But Frodo was right, as always. They had a rhythm, even as they were figuring out what their life together would be like. “Is that why you asked him last night if we were married?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that how married people act?”

“It is, but that’s mostly how people in love act.”

“Are you in love with me, uncle Bilbo?”

“No, but I love you very much,” he replied, taking a seat beside Frodo at the table.

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, love is more of a thing. Like a temperature or another feeling.”

“Like happy.”

“Exactly. You can’t see it or touch it, but you know it’s there. And like colors, there are a lot of different kinds of love.”

Frodo just nodded, heavily focused on the orange he was attempting to peel. He was struggling and after a moment, just held the orange out to Bilbo who gladly took it and peeled it for him. “What kinda love am I?”

“I love you like family.”

“And uncle Thorin?”

“I love him romantically.”

“And what about the other dwarves?”

“I love them all as friends.”

“You can love friends?”

“What other reason would I have to go on a dragon hunting quest?”

“Gold, since they don’t use their gold the right way,” Frodo replied, taking the orange back and cutting it into chunks.

Bilbo just smiled, kissing his nephew on the forehead. “They really don’t. You have a lot of questions this morning, huh?”

“Mhm,” Frodo replied, going back to his task. “It’s a question-askin’ kinda day.”

“It seems so,” Bilbo said, going back to his dough with a smile. “And I’ll answer any you have.”

“Cus you love me, right, uncle?”

“Yep, all because I love you very much.”

Chapter Text

What Bilbo had said started to ring true as the morning got under way. Breakfast dishes were cleared, hair was brushed and clothes were donned, while Bilbo prepared the next few meals, packing them away for each of them in small sacks. Frodo, who had woken up with more energy than either of the dwarven boys had ever shown at that age, had written up lists for each of the household members. The festival was a week away now, and that left them exactly 7 more sleeps until the big day. It was a fine Highday, the day of rest and celebration for the Hobbits, but there was little rest to be done now. Mid-years day was so close, and seeing how his companion and new nephew reacted to that fact, it seemed to be very important to them.
Frodo had even made lists for the boys. But, after some pestering, he agreed to let them share one list. As long as they were sure to get all they needed done. He seemed quite sturdy on the podium he had built for himself, commanding tasks to each and every one of them. Thorin’s list, which had been handed to him in an envelope with his name crudely written on the front, had clearly been influenced by the older of the two Hobbits.

Uncle Thorin’s To Do’s:
Talk to Gruffo (about entering the metal work showing at the festival)
Find Seradoc
Ask if he needs any help setting up the tents
Deliver B’s note (it’s on the fridge)
Help Kee and Fee put up the colors
Help the boys put up the fence flags, as well as the roof ones
And if nothing else, please take a look at the wheelbarrow. It’s awfully creaky and I don’t want to have to buy a new one

The handwriting was hurried cursive, that was perfectly legible if you knew how to read it, but oftentimes, it took a glance or two.
The boys were already set about their task of starting to decorate. The Gamgees had asked for help as well, and the two were eager to lend a hand (with the payment of some mince pie, of course), leaving Bilbo and Frodo to their own tasks. Frodo had taken up guard in the garden while Bilbo began going through his recipe book for something to bring. It was such ordered chaos, it reminded him of the armor room as his father prepared him for battle. It was such an odd comparison. The swords and axes were replaced with tacks and fliers, the canons being mirrored by colored flags hung from rooftops. It was the same energy. The feeling that something was coming, and they had to be ready for it. But there was an air of excitement instead of the silence of dread he was accustomed to.
As he started to walk into town, he could hear the chatter of celebration. Conversations of mild subjects, laughter at stupid jokes, the sound of distant construction, even faint music coming from somewhere.
Smithy was within sight from the street, seeing as his door was left wide open. Thorin had grown to like the man, since they both had the tendency to work in silence with a strong distaste for small talk. They talked, sure, but only when needed. It was a nice friend to have. The older hobbit waved to him as he approached, catching both the dwarf’s attention and the attention of his own son, Griffo, who was sitting right inside the door of the shop, whittling something in his hand.

“Aye, Thorin, didn’t expect to see you this week. Figured those Baggins would keep you busy.”

“Oh they are, don’t worry,” he replied, chuckling a bit. “Bilbo was telling me about the metalworking contest for the festival.”

“Yeah? You want to enter?”

“If I can. Just so I’m not idle.”

“Idle hands lead to a dull mind,” the blacksmith said as he walked over to his desk, sorting through a mess of papers. “What do you plan on making?”

“I don’t really know. I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

“Never smithed for a competition, huh?”

“No, I’ve done that. Just not one where the object wasn’t to make the most deadly weapon.”

Smithy laughed, causing the reading glasses on his nose to slide down just a little. Thorin didn’t understand why but it seemed to be a kind hearted laugh so he went with it. “Understandable. I can give you the rundown if you’d like.”

“Please,” the dwarf said with a short nod.

“We have about 5 different craftsmanship contests. Pottery, woodwork, leatherwork, cloth, and metal. There are a few others, but knowing you, I’m guessing you want metalwork.” Thorin nodded, resting his weight on his cane a bit more. Smithy pushed up his glasses, gesturing Thorin over.
“Most metal work entries are jewelry. Sometimes, we’ll get cutlery or dining wear. And occasionally, there will be an entry for gardening tools, but most often, it’s accessories. We need to know what you’ll make ahead of time and the deadline for me to submit this form is in 2 days, alright?”

“So I have to have my idea by then?”

“Yep, and the sooner the better. It doesn’t have to be exact at all,” he explained, setting the paper down, grabbing a notebook and a pen, and flipping it open. “It’s a blind judging because, shockingly, people are very biased. So we just need to know what it is you’ll be making for the entry, and we’ll assign you a number that’ll be on the table when the time comes for the judging. Do you have any guesses for what you might make?”

The dwarf paused, trying to gather his thoughts. He was going to make a set of arm braces, but he was starting to second guess that idea. And as he was brushing his hand through his mess of dark hair, he had a revelation. “Hair piece, Smithy.”

“Alright, hair piece it is. I’m interested to see your work, Thorin. And if you need, you can use the shop.”

“Won’t you be judging?”

“No, I just help register people like yourself. I’ll get this in, and goodluck next week. Hope to see something good,” Gruffo said, taking the papers and notebook to his backroom, leaving Thorin and the young boy in the front.

He waited for a moment or two but seeing that the blacksmith was doing something else now, he went to leave, but was stopped by the son of his employer, Griffo. He looked to be about Frodo’s age, if not a little older, with bright orange curls, and freckles to match. The boy was missing a few of his teeth, probably to the tooth fairy, and was just as bright eyed and curious as any other child. “You don’t look like a king.”

“Well, because I’m not.”

“Frodo said you are. And Mr. Baggins’ story says you are.”

“I was but I’m not anymore. Now my cousin is.”

“So you gave up being a king to come here?”

“Yep. What are you making?”

“I’unno. Something.”

“Well good luck with your something.”

“Good luck with your hair clip.”

Thorin smiled, nodding his head as a goodbye, before making his leave.

Talk to Gruffo, check
Next, find Seradoc

He was easy to track down. All Thorin had to do was follow the colorful tents. Seradoc was at the center of it all, laying out orders and directions for those putting up the tents and decorations. As prominent as he was trying to make himself, it really didn’t seem like they needed him there. So when Thorin waved with his free hand, Seradoc didn’t have much to finish up before coming over to the dwarf.

“Hello, Mr. Thorin,” he said with a large smile plastered on his face. Seradoc had extended his hand for a handshake and, without even waiting for Thorin to do the same, he vigorously shook his hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Seradoc Brandybuck, but I’m sure you know that. And I know you, or at least I know what people have said about you.” He was talking quite fast, spilling out all he could before Thorin could even get a breath in. After about a minute of going on about the ‘rumor mill’ as he called it, Seradoc clapped his hands together, and sighed. “Well, enough about that. What can I do for you, Mr. Thorin? It’s rare to get anyone from outside the Shire here for one of our festivals, we’re glad to have you. Oh and there I go again, getting off track. Did Bilbo send you? I was complaining to him about my lack of help.”

“Yes, he told me to come and ask if you needed help,” Thorin said, interjecting before Seradoc could continue.

“I would ask for help with heavy lifting, if you’re alright with that.”

Thorin just nodded, forcing a polite smile. It felt weird, but Bilbo had taught him a bit about it early on in the visit.
Seradoc showed him all that needed to be done (mostly moving large posts to where they needed to be set) and let him do the work. It took him a good few hours, but it was good work. He hadn’t used those muscles in a few weeks and it was like the hearth’s of Erebor being reignited. Or… like an older man lifting things he hasn’t in a while. Either way, it helped. Both him and the planning of the festival. Before he left, he was sure to give him the note Bilbo had written to him and left on the fridge.
And after another long winded ramble that Thorin would rather not be a part of, he said his goodbyes, marked another thing off his list, and set his sights on home. It was odd for him to see Bag End as his home since he had spent so much time with a need to reclaim Erebor. To take back his “home”. But that was his father’s home. And his was here. A much warmer, brighter, and sweeter place. Since the sun was still a bit above the horizon, the dwarf decided to take himself on a bit of a walk.
Leaving the center of town, he was met with the much quieter chatter that drifted in on the wind. He had never felt breezes like this back at the mountain. And as much as he loved it, something about the gentle warmth brushing through his hair washed away some of the years he spent thinking about revenge.
It was hard to recognize himself now. Looking back, at least. The younger man who would have sworn he’d have died in battle before giving up his sword and shield. But Bilbo always seemed to remind him that he was, in fact, the same person. He was the same dwarf that swore to take back Erebor, and would rule over it well. It made Thorin laugh to think about. He’d have to apologize for being such an ass to his hobbit when they first met.

A lot had changed in Thorin over the past few months. It was when he first woke up in Erebor, still in a great deal of pain, but alive, that he realized something. He was home. But it didn’t feel like it. His family was back on the throne, and all was right. But he still felt like it was missing something. Then, Dís made a suggestion for him to write to the hobbit. Just to keep him updated.
When he got the first letter back, it clicked. Maybe not consciously but from then after, Thorin had begun to write to Dain as well. He began drafting papers that would allow Dain to take the throne until one of his nephews were old enough (and sure they were adults, but they were still just princes). All the while, Dís watched quietly, writing her own letters to their Shire born friend.
She never told Thorin, and had made it clear to Bilbo that it was up to him if he wanted to tell the king, but he decided against it. Really, he just forgot all about it. Summer had started to pick up and he got busy as always, and it had just slipped his mind.

Until, of course, another horse made a stop outside Bag End. Thorin had made it home, and the first meal of the night was underway. Frodo had his friends over, and the 4 were playing with the boys in the front yard. Bilbo had been taking a moment to look out the window when he saw it. Both boys stopped and rushed to greet the rider, which caused the hobbit to get the attention of his companion.
“Thorin, dear, why don’t you go greet the new guest.”

“What new guest?” he asked, going to the sink to wash the spices off his hands.

“Go out and see.”

Thorin chuckled a bit to himself at the mild oddity of the situation as he did as he was told. But it was more of a shock when he saw who Bilbo meant.
“Dís?”

“Hello, Thorin!” his sister answered with a wave. “Nice to see you.”

Chapter Text

Frodo was very displeased about the unexpected visitor, and he wasn’t hiding it in the slightest. Despite his pleasant hello, once Dís showed her intention to stay longer than a few minutes, his demeanor changed. He didn’t want someone muddying up his week plans, as he said. To the point that Bilbo had to pull him aside, leaving Thorin and his sister to catch up, to talk to the lad.

“Frodo, you know that’s not polite.”

“Yes, but it’s also not polite to ruin someone’s plans by showing up without warning. You said that was the worst thing the dwarfs did.”

Bilbo went to say something, but his point was already countered by Frodo. “Well. Yes,” he finally replied. “But she most likely isn’t staying, and if she is, she won’t ruin our schedule.”

“And how do you know that? This is so very unplanned, uncle.”

“It is, but Mrs. Dís is a friend and she is nearly family. So, sometimes, as annoying as it may be, we have to allow people to make unannounced visits. She’s good at planning, and I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Aunt Lobelia is family, but we don’t let her stay!”

“Yes, but we don’t like her. I promise you will like Dís. You like Fee and Kee,” Bilbo started with, which Frodo nodded in response to. “She’s their mom, that has to be something, right?”

Little Frodo, as stubborn as his uncle used to be, paused for a moment as he thought. “Fine, but I am not changing any of my plans just because she’s here.”

“Understandable, my dear, now you go and make nice. Please,” Bilbo added, gesturing Frodo back towards the kitchen, where the two Durins sat.

Dís, ever the mother, smiled as the little hobbit came back into the kitchen, but was sure to give the smaller one a bit of space, to let him warm up to her.

“Uncle says I have to be nice. So I’m being nice.”

“Well, you can be sure to tell your uncle you did a wonderful job,” Dís replied, smiling down at the younger one. “My two have told me all about you in their letters. Said you wore them out.”

“Did not, Fee and Kee are just too big. Uncle Thorin is too old to play, but Fee and Kee try. They usually lose, because I can get into smaller spaces than them,” Frodo began explaining, as he pushed a chair over to the table, and climbed up on it.

“They used to be very small. Smaller than you, if I remember them well.”

“When they were babies? Did they have their face hair when they were babies too? Cus- because us hobbits never get the face hair, and you and uncle Thorin both have big ones, since you’re dwarves, right?” Frodo asked, his curiosity winning over his dislike for the disruption to his schedule.

Dís just gave him a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No, they didn’t have their beards when they were babies. Neither did you uncle Thorin until he was older than most.” Dís glanced at her brother, laughing a little at his cold glare, before turning back to Frodo. “My father, though-”

“Thrain,” Frodo interjected, knowing the old stories as well as anyone would.

“Yes, Thrain. He had hair much like yours. A lot on his face, too. Long enough it touched the ground.”

Frodo’s face showed his disgust at that thought. Hair that dragged along the ground. “Why didn’t he cut it? Uncle cuts my hair every summer so I don’t get too hot.”

“Because our hair is very important to us. It’s what our family gave to us, and it can show how much we take care of ourselves.”

“...so is it bad I cut my hair?”

“No, not at all. It’s also because most Dwarrow live in caves and other cool places. So we don’t have to worry about getting too hot in the summer. I’m sure Thorin will have to learn that later on.”

Frodo, as he usually did, had many questions for Lady Dís. Enough that he got lost in her own stories. Bilbo passed behind him a few times, starting on one meal or another, with Thorin’s usual help. All of it was usual, save for the interesting guest Frodo was now bombarding with questions.

“Are you older than uncle Thorin?”

“Just a little. Why do you ask?”

“What was he like when he was little?”

“Well,” Dís began, pausing for a breath. “In all honesty, he was a great deal like you, Frodo. Same curly hair, same pretty eyes. And many many questions.”

Frodo paused, a moment of fear covering his face. “Does that mean when I grow up I’m going to be as cranky as uncle Thorin?”

“I am not cranky,” Thorin interrupted, looking back into the room from where he was helping Bilbo cook.

“Are too! You are really grouchy when it’s breakfast time.”

“That’s because I’m tired.”

“And cranky,” Frodo added quietly, looking back at Dís. “He gets cranky.”

Dís nodded in response, an understanding look on her face, silently agreeing with the little hobbit. “So are Fee and Kee when you get them up early. Everyone is cranky when they’re tired.”

“I’m not!” Frodo protested, turning his head to the side a little. “I only get cranky when I’m tired and hungry.”

“That’s a very good reason to be cranky. Hard to go on big adventures with an empty belly and heavy eyes.”

“Mhm,” Frodo hummed as he nodded, knowing very well the difficulties of an adventure without a proper snack. “Are you staying for the festival, Miss Dís?”

“If that’s alright with you, Mister Frodo, I would love to. It’s been a while since I’ve had all my boys in one place, and I’d love to see what Thorin comes up with.”

“Did you teach him how to do all that stuff with metal?”

“No, our father did. I taught him how to make it prettier.”

Frodo nodded in understanding once again, before he points to her locket. “Did he make that?”

“No, Fili and Kili’s father made it for me a long time ago.”

“What’s his name?”

“Vili,” Dís replied simply, her smiling softening as she felt the locket in her fingers.

“Where is he?”

“He’s back home. He died a long time ago, when Kili was little.”

“Oh,” Frodo said quietly, looking away for a moment to think. “I’m sorry. My mom and dad died too. That’s why I live with uncle Bilbo,” he added, smiling a bit. “Uncle Bilbo makes good tarts, I can ask him to make one for you if you want. It’s berry season, and that’s great for tarts.”

“Well, that would be very kind of you, Mister Frodo. Thank you.”

“Of course. An unexpected guest is still a guest,” the young hobbit said, hopping down from his seat and padding back into the kitchen to ask that simple thing of his uncle.