Chapter Text
A horn blast rumbled deep into Erebor, shaking the King Under the Mountain out of his concentration with the papers in front of him, not that he had really had much anyways. Standing up, Thorin gave a grunt, his back cracking from the abuse of hunching over the desk since breakfast. A soft knock came at his door and he turned to see Balin poking his head in, hesitant and nervous Thorin could tell. That was worrisome in itself as the older dwarf never lost his calm nerve.
“Balin.” He nodded in acknowledgment, grabbing his crown from a drawer. “What is cause for the horns?”
“The Grey Wizard has returned,” was the tepid reply. This was...most unexpected. Gandalf had stayed to help negotiate terms between the new King Under the Mountain, Bard, and Thranduil. After those particularly painful weeks Gandalf had asked him if he had seen Bilbo. Just receiving the Arkenstone merely minutes ago brought back unpleasant memories of betrayal and he had snapped at the wizard, more or less growling that the only business he had with the Halfling was to throttle him for making him barter for his birthright. To say Gandalf was livid would have been the biggest understatement of Thorin’s life . After much thunderous yelling, shaking the very stone halls of the mountain, Gandalf swore he wouldn’t step forth into Erebor again until the “Idiot Under the Mountain” realized his perception of the Hobbit was a mistake and apologized to said Hobbit.
Not that Thorin could have anyways, for Bilbo Baggins had left weeks earlier at the start of negotiations. They didn’t even know if the Hobbit had come unscathed from the battle. Bofur and Dwalin had seen the Hobbit on the battlefield. They only knew he lived because Fili had told them that he had bid the Hobbit farewell. He refused to speak about what had been said, even to Kili. He had only described the lackluster look in the Hobbit’s eyes right before he left. However, the brief period of silence directed at his Uncle once he was well had been telling enough. Thorin had a lot to repent for toward his heirs. They hadn’t heard from him in years.
Though there had been a raise of hope when Kili came up to him after their meeting in Rohan and exclaimed to him Bilbo had been definitely been spotted around the area. He told them all Prince Théoden had told Kili, which wasn’t much but enough to get the Company riled and wanting to scour the city. It had attracted the attention of the wizard, who gave Kili a curious look. He had asked him how long ago this had been. Kili had deflated with words that Bilbo had headed south in spring.
Spring. They had missed him by months, and Bilbo was long and far-gone. To imagine he had been there that very winter Thorin had toasted to his deeds. A hollow feeling was left in his chest. Gandalf had just nodded at the news solemnly and left them without so much of a word or reprimand.
So Thorin had no idea what to make of this visit Gandalf was bestowing upon them. Fastening his fur cloak a little tighter he followed his advisor down the refurbished and gleaming halls. Upon entering the throne room, he saw already the Company was greeting the wizard happily. They had seen the wizard at the meeting in Rohan not more than a few months ago, but they knew as well the promise Gandalf had sworn to uphold against Thorin. Many were taking their turns to hug the tall being, but what caught Thorin’s eye, as well as his eldest nephew’s, was a little child hiding in the back folds of the grey robes.
Kneeling down by Gandalf’s side Fili smiled. “Well, who is this?” asked Fili in a voice Kili knew all too well. It was one reserved for little dwarflings, and he caught on to whom his brother was talking to. It was a child, not a dwarfling, but a Hobbit youngling, if the furry patches on the top of their feet were anything to go by.
“It’s a Hobbit child!” Kili exclaimed, tilting his head to the side in question as he circled Gandalf to inspect his brother’s find.
“They are called fauntlings, Master Kili,” corrected Gandalf as he let go of Bofur.
“Kili?” This was the child speaking, soft and curious. “You’re Kili?” he--the Princes were sure it was a boy--questioned the young heir. The older dwarves blinked in surprise, noticing the faunt for the first time. It seemed all Hobbits truly did have the tendency to go unnoticed.
“Yeah, my name is Kili. This is my brother--”
“Fili,” finished the child. The dwarves were surprised.
“Yes, my name is Fili.” Both brothers give a low bow. “At your service, Master Hobbit.”
Confirming their names seemed to have given the child confidence because he came out from behind Gandalf, and many dwarves gaped. Tight black curls adorned the child’s head and despite the piercing blue eyes, they could see a likeness to their Burglar in the child’s features.
“You are Gloin,” he pointed to the bushy bearded, redheaded dwarf, “and Oin,” his finger switching to the oldest dwarf. “Bombur.” The roundest of them all, quickly the child’s eyes scanned them. “Bifur.” The name came out sounding more like a sneeze. “Bofur.” The dwarf tipped his hat to the Hobbit. “Nori,” he said, a smile lighting up his features the more nods he got. “Dori.” The dwarf straightened up a bit. “Ori.” The faunt smiled at the knit covered dwarf. “Balin.” The elder nodded. “Dwalin.” By now the little Hobbit was smiling at his streak of naming them correctly. Then he turned to the King; Thorin saw his eyes flicker to his crown before looking at him directly. It had to be unnatural for someone so small to be able to make the mighty Thorin Oakenshield feel pinned down by a near matching set of eyes, and the child’s smile fell. “Thorin,” he finished quietly.
Unable to find his voice, Thorin settled for swallowing and giving the lad a small nod. Young, brilliant blue eyes, sparkling with an innocence and curiosity he hadn’t seen in many years. Not since a honey golden pair that had belonged to, what Thorin presumed was the child’s father, Bilbo Baggins. Was this why Bilbo hadn’t spoken to them? Had he a family back in the Shire now? Why was the child here? Many questions swarmed the King’s mind and apparently many others, for they were speechless as well.
“My, my, wee laddie.” Balin smiled at the faunt. He was always good at taking shocking events in stride. “You seem to know us, but who might you be?”
“Oh.” The child smacked his forehead, mumbling something about manners. It was hard not to smile when the child straightened up stiffer than a wooden plank, hands placed behind his back, trying to replicate looking serious, as much as one young as him could pull off anyways. “Frodo Baggins, at your service.” Frodo dipped low, curls bouncing in the air. Gandalf was openly amused at the shocked faces on the dwarves.
“Frodo.” Bofur tested the name. “Nice hobbit-y name.” The emphasis did not go unnoticed by the Company. The pit in Thorin’s gut grew. Galadriel's vision was still ringing clear in his head.
“What are you doing with Bilbo’s son, Gandalf?” questioned Dori. He had seen the resemblance to the Burglar too.
“Bilbo’s not in trouble is he?” piped up Ori, shuffling around nervously.
Frodo’s mood change was instantaneous. Within a few rapid blinks bright eyes turned dark and stormy. Tiny shoulders hunched over like the weight of the mountain overhead was directly upon them. Small little sobs started to echo in the hall. Before Gandalf could touch the child, Fili scooped him up and held him close, big brother mode kicking in just as fast as any mothering instinct Dori could inflict on Ori. Gentle shushes left the blonde’s lips on small bursts of air as he bounced Frodo.
“What has happened, Gandalf?” There was his voice. Thorin came forward, his eyes shifting between the endearing image of his nephew comforting Bilbo’s child and the weary wizard.
“After meeting Prince Théoden I was curious as to how he knew my name, but when he spoke of BIlbo being in Rohan I was curious as to why he would have been so far out from Hobbiton. Radaghast and I traveled to Saurman’s domain and found it in ruins.” The wizard’s face was grave. “Something foul had been brewing there but what ever it was- gone, destroyed. By what I do not know. We searched for Saurman, but he was not to be found.” Gandalf tried to keep the worry form his voice.
“What sort of foulness was he brewing?” Balin asked, narrowing his eyes. They didn’t need to deal with another war.
“That I’m afraid, not even I know. Just that it ended in ruins.” He tapped his fingers over his closed fist. “Though I have requested the White Council to come and investigate it’s still unclear. But, no matters to concern yourself with. Erebor is still recovering.” He nodded firmly. Many weren’t reassured by that but let the Wizard continue his tale. “From there I headed to Rivendell. I assumed, if Bilbo had been on the roads, he would of at least spent some time there.” Gandalf paused and shook his head.
“They haven’t seen him since when?” Ori asked.
“Since your visit to Rivendell.” His voice was low. “Lord Elrond was surprised at that as well and I wasn’t even sure he had made it home till I got into Hobbiton. The Old Gaffer told me Bilbo I found s young faunt in Bag End’s garden. You can imagine my surprise when I heard he was Frodo Baggins.” The dwarves nodded and Frodo whimpered into FIli’s shoulder. “ He was miserable and I asked why he wasn’t with his Uncle well- I just made things worse.” Bifur furiously signed to Gandalf.
“Very astute Master Bifur, Bilbo was indeed not there. Hadn’t been for months, and I thought well-- he’s very close to Bilbo so-”
“So you took a child halfway across this Valar forsaken land?” deadpanned Dwalin, looking quite off put and ready to tear Gandalf into bits.
“I knew he wouldn’t be here!” wailed Frodo, cutting off any would be fight. Fili’s shirt was in his clutches, a wet stain already present on his shoulder. He looked directly at Thorin. “He isn’t here because he’s banished!” Te turned back into Fili’s neck. “He’s too kind to come back here even though he should be allowed. He did nothing wrong. Nothing! He saved--” Sobs started to overtake his speech. “He saved you all.” Fili leveled his uncle with the same look he gave Thorin in his brief period of angered silence before pacing around the room trying to soothe the fauntling.
Gloin and Bombur frowned at the crying child, the father in them wanting to go and comfort Frodo themselves. It was Gloin who spoke up, “How does the lad know this?”
“Well, it seems Master Frodo has pestered every detail he could out of Bilbo…” the wizard trailed off. Narrowing his eyes, Thorin took a few more steps closer.
“What aren’t you telling us?” Balin asked.
“Before I answer that,” Gandalf sighed and looked at Frodo, “has Bilbo been back here since the battle?”
“No.” Thorin shook his head. “Fili was the last to see him after the battle died down. He was already leaving.”
A high-pitched whine cut through the air, startling them all. Thorin realized it was Frodo and the boy was flailing around in Fili’s arms who was failing to contain the Hobbit, Kili looking on helplessly right next to them.
“Please don’t take me back to Brandybuck Hall, Mr. Gandalf!” Frodo shook his head, furiously clutching onto Fili’s shirt. “I’m always left alone there! The nights are dark and cold, the shadows move! I promise I’ll be good and I don’t mind travelling! Maybe I can be your assistant, I just can’t go back! I can’t! The other fauntlings think I’m cursed and they won’t play…. First Bilbo, then mum and—” His words were no longer coherent, though they kept tumbling out.
Covering the few paces between them, Thorin came over to Fili and took the curly haired child. Even though Fili and Kili might be far beyond their years as dwarflings, comforting a child was as natural as walking. “Shush, little one.” He coaxed Frodo to lay his head down in the crook on his neck where there wasn’t any hard metal armor. He didn’t mind when tiny hands clutched his shirt and some hair accidentally. “You do not have to return if you don’t want to. I will not turn away a child in need.” Swaying side to side he kept murmuring into tiny pointed ears.
“Gandalf…” Kili started, “where is Bilbo? The last we heard of him was in Rohan. The young Prince Théoden told us he had been in the Men’s kingdom all winter.” Another bout of sobs came from the small faunt. Never before had the Company seen their tallest friend look so old and worn. They all waited as grey eyes scanned the vast room before sighing once more, leaning on his staff.
“Well, that is news to me for I’m afraid no one else has seen head or hair of Bilbo Baggins in nearly five years.”
A ripple of outcries and questions spouted from the dwarves instantly. Normally Gandalf would be pleased they had taken an interest in Bilbo’s well being, but it was far too late for that, many years too late.
“Did he make it back to the Shire?” Nori boldly asked. It had been something they all had wondered over the years, an itch that never really went away.
“Yes, he traveled back to the Shire. Alone,” Gandalf answered, stressing the last word. It had the desired effect and many flinched. “He spent a few months there after spending the winter and spring at Beorn’s. He had a few nasty, deep gashes, most of which he earned protecting you lot on the battlefield.” He paused and collected himself. “Anyways, it appears just before the winter after his return Mr. Baggins left Bag End. Though it was not discovered till spring because hardly any Hobbit ventured out as it was a rather harsh winter.” He looked around gauging their reactions. “Curtains were drawn and doors were locked, it wasn’t until an old friend of Bilbo’s came forward with his letter of departure that we knew what happened.”
“Where did he go? And why did he leave his youngin’ behind? That doesn’t seem like something Bilbo would do willingly,.” interjected Kili. His brother and company nodded in agreement.
“Bilbo went to find his peace,” came the soft reply. Thorin looked down at the little ball of Hobbit who had resigned to rest against him, tears still silently pouring down his cheeks.
“Peace?” echoed Dori.
Frodo nodded and rubbed his eyes. “He was restless, always looking East or peeking around the halls of Bag End like he expected someone to surprise him.” Some of the Company flushed. “I don’t think he enjoyed the Shire life very much.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gandalf.
“Well, the older Hobbits don’t like him anymore. Not respectable they said. Going off in an instant, gone for over a year.” Frodo looked at Thorin sternly. “They thought he was dead!”
“Nothing can kill our Burglar!” Oin boasted. Many of the others cheered in agreement, but Frodo still deflated once more.
Thorin frowned at the little faunt, there seemed to be more than he was telling. “Was there anything else to indicate his unhappiness?”
Frodo shrugged, his mood fallen once more.
Thorin shifted Frodo on his hip. “Let’s go to the Commons Room; I’m sure you would like to rest and eat.” He gestured down the hall where the Company and their families lived. At the end of the hall was a common area they all gathered together in the evenings.
“I think that would be a splendid idea,” agreed Gandalf.
Food was brought in and everyone settled down around the large table meant to seat them all. Thorin sat at the head while the others sat where they pleased. Calmer now, Frodo examined Thorin. He let the child do so without a word; he could see the cogs turning in the little one’s head. Frodo huffed and let his head fall on the dwarf’s chest, muttering something inaudible. Thorin let it go. He remembered a time when Fili and Kili were tired and grumpy after traveling. It was best to let them work it out.
“Is it true?”
“Hm?” Thorin hummed, looking at Frodo. “Is what true?” The fauntling was touching and examining his braids. Frodo had such tiny hands; he wondered how old he was.
“About how you got your ep-epi-ep--” His little face contorted as he tried to pronounce a word.
“Epithet?” the King offered. Frodo nodded. “Oakenshield you mean?”
“Yes.” Frodo nodded eagerly. Balin chuckled at the curious little hobbit.
“Well, what do you know about it?” Thorin asked, setting up a plate for himself and Frodo.
“Uncle said he didn’t know all the details about Moria or...Az-anul-bi-zar.” He sounded it out very slowly.
Thorin smiled. “Very good pronunciation. How is that easier than epithet?”
“Bilbo said it was important I know how to say things in your tongue properly or I could insult someone.” All the dwarves at the table laughed.
“Ah, he would know that from personal experience,” Balin said with a merry twinkle in his eye.
“What else do you know about our adventure, little one?” Ori asked, tilting his head ever slightly to the side.
Huffing indignantly Frodo pouted. “I know a lot about your adventure. He told me about it every time I came to see him or asked about it.” Stopping his eating, Frodo tried to stop a few more tears from leaking out of his eyes.
Thorin looked down at the quiet faunt. “What’s wrong?”
“I miss him, a lot,” Frodo sniffled.
“I admit I miss him as well, little one.” Thorin tried to reassure Frodo he wasn’t alone in his sadness. He brought out a handkerchief--he’d gotten into the habit a few months after traders started to return to Erebor years ago. It had been on a whim, but he knew he hadn’t wanted to admit it was because of their Burglar’s moaning about missing his. They were quite handy, and great for tiny noses.
“I might not have been entirely truthful about hearing form Bilbo,” Gandalf said, putting down his fork.
“Has he contacted the elves?” Thorin asked, an edge of restraint in his voice. He knew Bilbo held a fondness for elves and with the way the dwarves had last treated him he couldn’t begrudge Bilbo for going to them, but old habits and hate were hard to let go of.
“No, in fact Lord Elrond has not seen him since his brief visit on his way back to the Shire.” Gandalf rooted through his pockets for some leaf to smoke. “So to hear dear Bilbo has been in Rohan means he’s avoided the elves on his way back East. Not even Thranduil or his patrol have seen him.”
“Bilbo has a knack of not being seen when he doesn’t want to,” Bofur said between mouthfuls of potatoes. He paused, swallowed, and pointed his fork at Gandalf. “Do you know about his little ring that turned him invisible?”
This question caused Gandalf to snort and choke on his dinner. Nori gave the wizard a few thumps on the back. “His ring?” He wiped his face and cleared his throat, looking rather startled.
“You never saw his little gold ring?”
“No, I certainly have not.” The wizard’s frazzled nature disturbed the dwarves.
“I’ve seen it,” Frodo’s small voice said. Eyes turned to the faunt settled on Thorin’s lap. “It’s just a plain gold band but I never saw him wear it, except on a necklace around his neck.” He stabbed a potato, which he seemed to prefer.
Ori leaned forward. “He never showed you how it worked?”
Frodo shook his head. “No, he kept it in a box once, but he didn’t like that so much so he went to wearing it on a leather strap.”
“Gandalf?” Thorin asked, staring at the wizard. “Galadriel’s vision. Could it be?”
“I do not know. Frodo has not let me touch his book.”
Frodo puffed out his chest, looking annoyed. “It’s my book. Bilbo never finished telling me his story and I haven’t read the ending yet.”
“The ending isn’t a pretty one, laddie,” Dwalin said. “Lots of anger, lots of blood, lots of death.”
“Lots of misjudgement,” Thorin added quietly.
Frodo turned to look at the dwarf King. “I know. Uncle told me not to be mad at you.”
“Uncle?” Dwalin parroted, interrupting the child. “Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo nodded. This child wasn’t Bilbo’s, thought Thorin. For some reason that lifted a weight off the King’s chest.
“Uncle sent me your story as a birthday present. He filled an entire big red book.” The faunt set his hand apart, much bigger than the small red book tucked into Thorin’s coat that very moment.
“I wonder if it could be his unabridged version!” Ori gleefully exclaimed.
“Unabridged?” Kili asked.
“I swear there’s an awful echo today,” muttered Nori.
“This is wonderful news!” chimed Ori, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. “It would mean Bilbo may have written a longer version than the one we have! Would you happen to have it with you?” Frodo nodded tentatively. “May I borrow it for a few days, to translate it into Khuzdul? Many of our people can’t read Westron even if they speak it and they’ve been dying to hear the entire story!”
Frodo took a moment and silently pondered Ori’s request. It was the longest moment Ori had felt in a long time. Frodo could tell Ori’s emotions were genuine, but the book was his most prized possession. He nodded finally. “Uncle said reading was important…So I suppose, but I’m not letting you out of my sight with it!” Ori didn’t hesitate to agree.
“How did you come by the book of Bilbo’s, Frodo?” Kili asked.
“A ranger from Rohan came and delivered it to me. Uncle told me--” He trailed off.
Ranger from Rohan. Thorin caught Gandalf’s eye; that book was sent the same time Bilbo had been so close by.
“Told you what?” urged Fili.
“He had found another adventure.” There was obviously more, but the faunt didn’t look comfortable enough to talk about it.
So Thorin intervened. “When did you receive this gift?”
“September,” Frodo said idly, now picking at his food. “But I think his story was why he left.” Thorin could feel the small thumps of the Hobbit’s heels as he swung his legs back and forth.
Thorin blinked. “Why he left. The Shire?” Frodo nodded and pulled out the white handkerchief he still had, the big bold interlocked B’s in a corner.
Frodo let Thorin take the handkerchief and examine it. The green reminded him of the Hobbit’s front door he had knocked on the first night they met.
“I walked with him to the edge of town the morning he left.”
The dwarves and Gandalf stared at the child. “You never told me this, Frodo,” said the wizard.
“No one else knows it either,” mumbled Frodo. Picking at the small chain around his neck he withdrew the necklace from within his shirt and produced a key. “He gave me Bag End that morning.” He fingered the key lightly like it was made of glass.
“That…can’t be. Why?” stuttered Dori. “Bag End was his home.”
“He spent half the trip dreaming about it,” Gloin gruffed out. Frodo didn’t look up, his lower lip was trembling and he was trying not to cry again.
Dwalin had had enough and picked the wee lad off Thorin’s lap and held him close, taking his cloth napkin and wiping the tears off his face. “Take heart, little one,” Dwalin said to Frodo, who wrinkled his nose after the napkin was taken away, “you’ve accomplished what your uncle has: you’ve crossed the plains and mountains of Arda and reached Erebor. That’s a grand feat in itself. It took thirteen dwarves, a Hobbit, and a wizard to get here and we barely made it to the doors alive.” He tilted his head to the company. “Though with less orcs and goblins I hope.”
Frodo giggled and nodded. “We stopped and saw the trolls.”
“Would you like to hear how Fili and Kili caused that?”
“Oi!” the Princes protested.
Frodo laughed and nodded, tugging on Dwalin’s shirt. “It’s my favorite story!”
Dwalin gave a toothy grin. “Well, Thorin was in a foul mood...” he began. Thorin huffed and the others laughed. Frodo smiled as Dwalin retold the fight of the orcs; Balin had to prevent his dear brother from using too many obscene words and the other interjected when they had a shining moment.
Frodo was contentedly asleep against Dwalin’s chest by the time he spoke of Gandalf cracking the giant stone. The dwarf didn’t have the heart to move Frodo so the dwarves and wizard all sat in relative silence as the night drew on. Smoke filled the air with the strong musky scent of the preferred dwarvish pipe weed. Lighting a fresh pipe, Gandalf took a deep breath, held it, and let out a steady stream of smoke that furled out into a running horse. “I think I shall pay a visit to the Prince of Rohan. See if he can tell me which way our wandering Hobbit has ventured toward,” the wizard finally said.
“We told you, the young prince said he headed--” started Gloin.
“Yes, I know what you told me, Master Gloin,” Gandalf huffed, “But I think there is more that Prince Théoden knows that he hasn’t spoken about. And King Thengal as well,” he added. There was a brief moment of silence. “I hate to take Frodo on the road again so soon, do you think we could rest here for a few days? For his sake.”
“Like I told the child before, Gandalf, I will not turn him away. A life on the road is not meant for children. I would ask that he remain here, if he should wish it.”
Taking his pipe out and blowing a long stream of white smoke, Gandalf appraised Thorin. Certainly Frodo was a curious child, and having willing caretakers would benefit him very much. However, “Can you promise me no harm will come to Frodo. That scorn will not fall upon him because he is a Hobbit?”
“If you had been here on the fourth anniversary of the battle,” started Thorin, leveling Gandalf with the same look the wizard was giving him, “you would have wept for joy with the progress of alliances between Men, Dwarves, and Elves. Bilbo is not an unsung hero; you can hear ballads of his triumphs and peril resonating in these dwarvish halls. He will be cared for and treated kindly. You have my word and my crown as promise.”
A chuckle came from Gandalf, then a few more. The wizard beamed at Thorin. “I am happy to hear those words, Thorin Oakenshield. You have come far and learned much, though it might have taken a few orc maces to the face.” Thorin ducked his head, the others chuckling. “If Frodo Baggins wishes to stay in your company while I am out, then he may stay.”